


The Blacksmith & The Baker's Son

by Paperback_Writer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Dungeons and Dragons type stuff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Medievalstuck, Period-Typical Homophobia, Quests, Slow Build, Sword Fights (Literally you sinner), The violence is a little graphic I suppose..., dear god it is slow, had to update those tags for chapter 10, slowwww, sorry about that, the POV's gonna flip-flop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 91,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paperback_Writer/pseuds/Paperback_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have this Medievalstuck thing that nobody asked for or wanted! </p><p>Dave is the Blacksmith's apprentice in the Town of Sburb, a place so small that you could pass right through it without recalling that you'd been there at all. And he is DYING for an out. When a mysterious adventurer comes through town, singing his adventures and brave tales, Dave knows that this is his only chance to escape. </p><p>The idea for this came from one of the most b-e-a-u-tiful short films I've ever seen, "The Reward". (https://vimeo.com/58179094).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Dave

**Author's Note:**

> S/O to Plinkoid for reading through my skeleton, and then agreeing to Beta this atrocity (love ya, внучка! <3).
> 
> Here we goooooo!

The first gravelly summoning of ‘boy!’ was lost amidst the soot, and the clanging of metal, and the constant roar of the furnace. The blacksmith was, it was generally agreed, the noisiest place in town, as well as the dirtiest and hottest. It was a wonder that the Smith, a tower of a man with the chest of a barrel and the attitude of an ornery donkey, ever managed to get any help. The place had a poor reputation, and his attitude drove off most. But he fed well, and he taught well, and the apprentice he’d never bothered learning the name of was doing just fine, thank you very much.

The second time the Smith called him, Dave just pretended not to hear. He was busy hammering out a shiny new dagger for some lord or lady or other. The town he lived in could barely be considered a town, with merely a handful of houses, a handful of shops, and a single shoddy church slumped in the centre. But the Blacksmith (Dave had, like most of the townspeople, never bothered to learn his name) was apparently very good, and often sought after for things like knives, swords, and the occasional helmet or scabbard. The knife was red-hot, and Dave knew from experience (the scars on the underside of his arm reminded him loudly and often) that if you lose focus and  forget you’re holding hot metal directly out of the furnace in one hand and a large hammer that’s heavy enough to shape steel, you end up getting sent to the medic down the road in excruciating pain.

 

The final time the Smith called Dave was much harder to ignore. He stuck his head in the door, yelling at the top of his impressive lungs.

“BOY!”

Dave jumped at the sudden roar, fumbling with the tongs and dropping the knife into the barrel of water. Steam rose through the dark room, bonding itself to the soot on Dave’s face to form a disgusting paste. Dave whipped around, then tried to act like he hadn’t jumped at all by leaning awkwardly on the anvil.

“Yeah?” was all he said.

“Forget the knife,” he replied, already turning to haul his huge frame out the door, “Come an’ look at this!”

 

Dave blinked a little, nudging the tinted goggles he used for smelting up into his hair. The Smith sounded excited. The Smith was excited? He was never excited. The closest he got to ‘excited’ was ‘not-pissed’. Dave left the rapidly cooling weapon in its watery grave, making some attempt to clean the muck off his face and out of his hair. Whatever it was that’d gotten the Smith in a good mood probably demanded some degree of presentability. His attempts fell, as usual, flat on his face, as all he managed was moving the gunk from one place to another. Good enough, he thought, and made his way out the front door.

 

Squinting in the sudden light of the outside world, Dave registered two things. The first being that the whole town (all 106 of them, he thought dryly) had gathered in the tiny ass square in front of the church. The second thing was that the reason he was struggling to see clearly was the way the sunlight reflected off the armor of a figure in the centre of the square, tall and probably standing on a soap box.

“That there is Samuel _McMahon_ ,” came the gravely voice of the Smith. Dave turned to look at him, at the wonder that filled his aging and cracking face.

“Who?” Dave asked, the name having no effect on his general lack of impression.

“McMahon the great?” The Smith offered, like Dave was an idiot. Dave just shook his head.

“Nope.” was all he said. The Smith tutted a little.

“This was the man who managed to slay the dragon of Yehreen, cut the head off that tyrannical bitch who ruled Alternia, _an_ ’ solved the Maze of Prospit upon Prospit. He’s a living legend!”

“So what’s he doing here?” Dave asked, still unbothered. The fantastical feats of this McMahon guy seemed either too good to be true, and even if they were they were the specific kind of wonderfully heroic that turned half-decent men into insufferable assholes. The Smith stood up a little taller, dusting down his heavy apron.

“Probably to buy some of my first class weaponry,” he sniffed. Dave scoffed. They lapsed into silence as McMahon droned on about some adventure or other, having all 106 of the other townspeople ‘ooh’-ing and ‘ahh’-ing at his heroic bravery.

“What’s he standing on a soap box for?” Dave asked. The Smith merely shrugged.

 

“Listen, Ladies,” the man said finally. There was a chorus of giggling from the women up front, fawning over his (admittedly impressive) biceps.

“I’d love to stand here and chat all day, but my feet are getting awful tired,” McMahon’s voice was like honey, and had the exact tone that let everyone in earshot that he was more successful than they could possibly hope to be.

“Yeah!” called the greasy owner of the tavern, “We can continue this in the tavern! First round’s on me!” The crowd burst into cheers, applauding the idea of heavy drinking at around two in the afternoon. Everyone filtered out of the square and ushered McMahon into the tavern, and Dave was left standing alone in the warm afternoon sun.

 

Most of Dave’s common sense was informing him politely but firmly that he ought to just stay out of this mess, that it wasn’t worth his time to get involved, and that the knife was probably beginning to rust in that barrel. However, a small part of his brain was urging him on, telling him that, despite McMahon’s dislikable attitude, his stories were as close as he was likely to get to leaving this god forsaken town. The town was small. It was claustrophobic, and confining, and Dave hated every square inch of it. Everything felt muted, from the same shade of grey that the houses were made of to the quiet way people spoke to each other in the streets. It was enough to drive Dave mad. The closest he’d ever gotten to leaving before were the fairy tales his elder brother had told him, and then the Lords and Ladies who’d come through to order something from the Smith, and now this McMahon character. Besides, Dave still had no idea why he was here in the first place, and that little gap in his knowledge was scratching at the back of his mind like a cat crying to be let out. With nothing accompanying him other than the hollow sound of his soft-souled shoes against the flagstone, he slipped into the tavern.

 

* * *

 

The tavern was like most other places in the town; dark and warm. What gave the tavern it’s unique hall-mark was its particular odor, like old boots and mould. The keeper blamed this on the yeast, and everyone with half a brain in their head blamed it on the combined body odor of fifty drunkards and not enough cleaning. But the ale was cheap and alcoholic enough to get your average Joe fucking plastered in a couple pints, so nobody was complaining.

 

It took everyone all of fifteen minutes to get tipsy enough to dance wildly with each other, and all of forty for McMahon (who was obviously used to either weaker ale, or getting shitfaced early in the afternoon) to be yelling about his various quests incoherently, followed quickly by him scraping together a kind of ad-hoc Q and A session. This was an absolute disaster, as he gave long meandering answers to whatever he was asked. Just when Dave thought he was drunk enough to spill the beans on the inevitable ‘Why’d you come to our humble town, oh godly adventurer?’, he answered with meaningless stammered out syllables and an eventual slurred ‘It’s on a strictly need to know basis, ma’am’.

 

By about 3:45, most everyone had either passed out or gone home. Dave had not drank a single drop of what the tavern-keeper was sloping out, and McMahon had still not spilled his soul. Two hours was far too long to wait, and Dave was not a particularly patient person. He jiggled his knee under the table, sending frugal glances over to where he sat. The three of them were the only ones still in the Tavern who were awake and (somewhat) functioning; Dave at his table a careful distance from the steel-clad adventurer, McMahon at the bar, nursing a half empty glass, and a doughy, black haired boy with glasses Dave knew only by sight, listening attentively to whatever McMahon was saying. The current quiet of the tavern finally made it easy to pick out what he was saying, even though it didn’t seem to make all that much sense.

 

“Oh, ‘ve seen things like you wouldn’ BELIEVE, kiddo,” he said, his grand tone and honey voice faded to a smooth, slurring sort of slush tumbling out of his mouth.

“Like what?” the kid asked, leaning in confidentially. He still had a full mug of ale in front of him, and was obviously stone cold sober. McMahon shook his head sadly.

“Y’don’t wanna know, kid, trus’ me,” he said, looking away for a moment, “Trust me.” The tavern silent, and McMahon seemed old beyond his years, quiet and thoughtful and marred by the horror of a hundred years a traveller.

“So you came here to settle down?” the boy offered. McMahon blinked, and the spell was broken. He laughed, a loud and stammering sound.

“O’course not!” he boomed, downing the rest of his drink. He slung one meaty arm around the boy’s soft shoulders, leaning in. Dave conspicuously got up and moved closer to listen in on the whispering match.

“Look, I’m gonna tell YOU why ‘m here, because I know I c’n trust you, kid,” McMahon whispered. The boy nodded, licking his lips a little. McMahon shrugged off a shoulder bag, dropping it to the stone floor with an empty sort of clatter. He reached into it, and produced a scroll of old paper. Dave’s eyes widened. The Boy’s mouth dropped open.

“Y’see this?” McMahon slurred, waving it in the boys face. He nodded.

“Is that a map?” he whispered, nudging his smudged glasses up his round face. McMahon nodded.

“This is the map that’s gonna make me _rich_ , kid,” McMahon giggled, “and leads to a spot just a few days walk from here.”

“What’s the treasure?” the boy asked, his big, round eyes not leaving the scroll of old paper in the man’s fist.

 

“The legend goes that a long time ago there lived a King, a mean and brutal man who ruled his city with terror and hate. He taxed his subjects to poverty, and the army took what little they had left. And one day, a powerful alchemist decided enough was enough, and robbed the king for all he was worth. He hid it all in a safe under the ground, beneath the tallest Popular tree he could find. And, not wanting the king to get back the ill-earned gold, he turned the key into three things...”

 

“What were the three things?” the boy asked, after a few moments of silence. McMahon simply slumped over backwards, landing with a clang and a snore on the hard, stone floor. Dave snorted to himself. _Typical_.

 

Everything was still for a moment. The riches of a long-dead king, huh? Sounded too good to be true. It was almost _certainly_ not true, but the map was right there, trapped in his sweaty hand. Two and two clicked in Dave’s head.

 

That bit of paper was his ticket out of this two-bit town, and into the real world. Adventure, excitement, women, men, fame, fortune, it was all trapped within the creases of that old parchment pa-wait. Where’d it go? Speaking of which, where’d the black haired boy go? Dave huffed a sigh. Right.

 

He burst out into the fading, yellow sunlight, and there stood the boy marveling at the unrolled paper in his hand and mouthing something to himself. Dave took a tentative step closer, but the boy didn’t notice. It wasn’t until Dave’s shadow crossed the map that the boy took any notice. He looked up at Dave, and rolled the thing shut again, hiding it behind his back.

“May I help you?” he asked, his nasally voice a little high.

“Yeah,” Dave said, leaning around the boy to try and get a glimpse of the paper, “what’cha got behind your back there?”

“Nothing much,” the boy said with a shrug, taking a step back.

“Well if it’s nothing much then you wouldn’t mind showing me, would you?” Dave replied with a thin smile. He congratulated himself on formulating such a convincing argument. The boy sighed, holding out the parchment almost guiltily. Dave snatched it out of his hands, pretending to examine its exterior.

“It’s just some old paper I found,” the boy said with a shrug, “now can I have it back?”

“Why would you want some random old paper?” Dave asked, slowly unrolling it. The boy watched on, nervously.

“Dad likes to reuse stuff like this in the bakery,” was his only reaction. He put one hand on the map, grabbing at it, “now give it back!”

“No way!” Dave said, pulling it back. The kid had a death grip on the thing, and lost his footing a little with the force of the pull. He grabbed onto it with his other hand, pulling back with all his might.

“Yes way! This is mine!”

“Is not!” Dave yelled. He yanked it to his chest.

“Is too!” the boy cried back, yanking it back to his chest. A strange game of tug of war began, the map being pulled savagely between the two boys.

“Bullshit! This belongs to that McMahon guy!”

“How do _you_ know?”

“Because I watched you steal it from him!”

“Well it’s _still_ mine, because I _rightfully_ stole it!”

“Well now I’m _rightfully_ stealing it from you!”

“That’s not fair! _I_ stole it first!”

“And I stole it second! What difference does it make?”

“Stop pulling at it!”

“ _You_ stop pulling at it!”

“I’m serious! You’re gonna-”

 

_Rrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiip_

The two boys fell backwards and away from each other, each with exactly half of the map in their hands. Dave stared down at it, but without the other half, it was utterly indecipherable.

“-Tear it,” the boy finished quietly, staring down at his half of the map in horror.

“Great,” Dave muttered. The other boy looked up, and held out his hand.

“Give it,” he demanded.

“ _Hell_ no,” Dave replied, scowling.

“You ripped it, so I should get the map,” glasses replied, crossing his arms. Dave shook his head.

“There’s obviously only one solution,” Dave said, tucking his half of the map carefully into the elastic of his trousers.

“There’s a solution?” the boy asked, obviously confused.

“Yeah,” Dave let his lips pull up into a smirk, “we duel.”

 

Dave was about six foot four, and working in the blacksmith for most of his adolescent life made him lean and muscular. The black haired kid in front of him was probably only five foot five or so, and (assuming he really was the baker’s boy) had lived off the cream of the crop. The extra chub that gathered around his arms and belly were proof of this fact. If it came down to a duel over these two vastly important scraps of paper, it was obvious who would win.

 

“D-duel?” the boy stuttered, his eyes going wide.

“Yeah man.”

“Here? _Now_?”

“Yessir.” There was a brief silence as the black haired boy continued to look on Dave with staggering incredulity.

“Like...to the _death_?” he asked.

“What?” Dave cried, taking a step back at the implication, “No, dude, I’m not gonna kill you over half a map.” Glasses let out a sigh of relief, apparently thinking over the suggestion.

“Okay...what’s the weapon?” he asked, squaring his shoulders a little. Dave blinked, taken aback. He’d never actually fought someone in his life, and was hoping the kid would have just sorta given the map up, seeing the futility of the battle.

“Uh...” Dave’s eyes scanned over the barren town square, looking for something that would do, “Branches from that tree over there.” Dave pointed to what was really little more than a sapling sitting sheepishly in front of the church.

 

They made their way over, each tearing off one of the supple branches from the young tree. Dave gave his an experimental swing. Light enough to hardly maim (certainly not kill), but flexible enough to sting.

“Alright,” the other kid said, folding his map and tucking it securely into the elastic of his trousers, “to the...whenever one of us agrees to give up the map!”

“You sure you wanna do this?” Dave asked, hoping to get out of beating the baker’s son into a bloody pulp.

“Well I can’t run, ‘cause that would be kinda cowardly, and I’m not just gonna give it up,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his face, “that map’s like, my ticket out of here!”

“Huh,” Dave hummed. It seemed strange that he wasn’t the only one who was begging for an exit route, and it kind of irritated him that his private dream, his most deep desire was shared with someone else. His train of thought must’ve been obvious on his face, as the boy was giving him a weird look

“What? Did you think you were the only one in this two-bit-town hoping for adventure?” the other kid asked, his eyes laughing if nothing else.

“Just shut up and duel me,” Dave replied, holding the stick out like he was holding a sword. The kid raised his, looking utterly ridiculous. Dave brought his stick up, like he was going to hit the boy. Announced by little other than the hollow grinding of loose stones under shoes, and the soft thud of a young branch hitting the ground, glasses turned on the balls of his feet and sprinted away. Dave dropped the branch, grumbling, and took off after him.

 

Despite the kid’s doughy, formless figure, he was quick and light on his feet. As soon as Dave turned the corner, his only clue as to where the other boy had gone was a shadow or the last part of a heel. The only sound that accompanied him was his own ragged breathing and the echoing footsteps of the boy he was chasing, and then his own breathing was all he could hear. Jesus fuck, he thought, this is a lot of trouble to go through for half a map. He stopped where he was, looking around for any signs of the boy’s direction, trying to slow his breathing to something approaching normal. A spattering of loose shingles fell and smashed behind him, startling him and forcing him to whip around and locate the source of the noise. A few stones had simply fallen from the low roof behind him, or rather, they had been pushed off by the frantic scrambling of a black haired boy. Dave scrambled up after him, running haphazardly along the apex of the roof. They quickly ran out of roof, and the boy leapt onto one marginally taller as if it was no harder than jumping a puddle. Dave followed, struggling with the distance only a little, landing with only the back half of his heel hanging off the edge. His arms windmilled wildly, he regained his balance, and the pursuit continued.

 

The boy kept climbing, jumping onto higher and higher rooftops with ease. Dave followed, finding it harder and harder to make the jumps. Eventually he was hitting the roof’s edge with his chest and hauling the rest of himself up afterwards. There weren’t many roofs in the town, and they quickly made a full circle back to the church facing the town square. The divide, to Dave’s eyes, looked nearly impossible. He was convinced that finally, finally he’d cornered the boy, and he’d be forced to either hand over his half of the map or plummet miserably to his death. But, adamantly not breaking pattern, the kid leapt into the air, landing nimbly on the steep roof top. He scrambled up to the peak, turning to look at him triumphantly. Dave came to a stop. There were two explanations for what just happened. The first one was that the kid was supernaturally athletic, and not just for his shape, and possessed some sort of magic. The second one was that the jump itself wasn’t as difficult as it looked. Which seemed more likely?

 

Dave backed up, and sprinted as fast as he could, jumping at the last minute and flailing his arms wildly in the hopes that this would increase his speed. It didn’t, and he hit the church’s roof with his elbows. He bounced off the edge, cursing loudly despite the proximity to a church, arms searching wildly for something to hold onto, knowing that even if he found something to grab there was no way he’d have enough energy to haul himself up, eyes squeezing shut, preparing for the sudden stop and the snapped neck and--

 

Fingers around his forearms. His legs casually dangling in the air, bumping off the side of the church. He looked down, and noticed with a mixture of relief and horror that he had not hit the ground, and was instead suspended a good ten or twelve feet above it. Dave gripped onto the arms of his saviour with all his might

“Just hold on!” came the strained, nasally voice of his savior. Dave looked up, craning his neck, and there was the other boy’s doughy face, crumpled in concern. Apparently, he’d seen Dave fall and had jumped to his aid, landing on the steep, slanted roof on his stomach. He realized with a sinking, shooting chill that the other boy was in the perfect position to demand the map, that Dave’s life was literally in his hands. He was waiting for the inevitable ‘I’ll only help you in return for the map’, and when it didn’t come, he decided it was safe to speak.

“No shit!” he yelled back.

“You’re gonna-oof-hafta pull yourself up,” the other kid said, adjusting his position on the roof a little.

“You can’t just pull me up?” Dave whined, feeling his arms scream in protest of the mere idea of pulling himself up. The boy tried, struggling under the weight, and gave up, dangling Dave limply

“Dude, you weigh a ton! What, do you eat like, rocks for breakfast?” he panted, attempting to wriggle further up the roof.

“It’s not polite to comment on a lady’s weight, y’know,” Dave huffed.

“Shut up! I’m allowed to complain about how heavy you are when I’m holding you!” glasses cried. Dave’s fingers slipped slightly, only causing the boy to hold on twice as tightly and Dave to kick out wildly in panic. There was a silence, and Dave only heard the roar of blood in his ears.

“Can you reach the wall with your feet?” the boy asked after a while. Dave swung his feet out, and amazingly managed to make contact with the uneven stone.

“Yeah,” Dave replied, “why?”

“Okay, on three, you start walking up the wall, and I’ll pull, and maybe that’ll work,” the boy said thoughtfully, tilting his head up in an attempt to stop his glasses falling off his face.

“You think it’ll help?” he asked uncertainly.

“Well, there’s not much else we can do!” the boy answered, looking back down, “you ready?”

“Sure, let’s go,” Dave replied, knowing that there was no way it’d work.

“Alright! One...”

“We’re doing this, bro,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“...two...”

“We’re making this happen.”

“Three!” he yelled. Dave began to frantically scramble up the wall, as the other boy pulled at his pale skin in an attempt to pull him up. Miraculously, Dave felt himself rise a few inches, and then a few more. By degrees, bit by bit, he managed to get most of his upper body above the roof. The boy scrambled backwards, and Dave pulled himself up so he was lying on the roof. This, apparently, wasn’t satisfactory for the other kid, and he promptly grabbed the back of Dave’s shirt, hauling him to his feet and up to the apex. There, they fell over on their backs, breathing heavily and realizing their immeasurable luck.

 

 _I really should thank him_ , Dave thought, _he pretty much saved my life_. Instead of an expression of gratitude, the only thing that came out of his mouth was:

“So much for ‘running is cowardly’, huh.” He cringed, hoping that the other kid wouldn’t take offense.

“Yeah, well, you looked about ready to chop off an arm or something!” the kid laughed, still obviously out of breath.

“Thanks, anyway,” he replied, and they went back to trying to even out their breaths.

“I’m John, by the way,” the other boy said, sitting up, “John Egbert. I’m the baker’s son.” Dave propped himself up on his elbows a little, watching the hand extended to him.

“Dave Strider. Smith’s apprentice,” he replied, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Dave!” he chirped, “even though it was kinda a weird way to meet.”

“Yeah,” he replied. There was a small silence, and Dave felt the awkwardness creep in. He’d never been particularly talented at socializing.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I could convince you to give up that half of the map,” Dave said, wearily. John shook his head.

“And I’m guessing that you’re keeping your half as well, huh,” he said. Dave nodded. Another silence fell over the two as they watched the late morning light fade and morph into a softer yellow.

“Hey!” John said suddenly. Dave jumped a little.

“Yeah?”

“What if we just worked together?” he asked, grinning. Dave felt everything, his breathing, his heartbeat, even the constant whirring of his brain, stop suddenly.

“What?”

“Well, we both want the same thing!” he said, that stupid smile still stuck all over his face, “and neither of us want to give up the map and get left behind, so the obvious thing to do is to just sort of push the two halves together, share the map and be done with it!”

“You want me to _help you_ follow this map and get the treasure?” Dave asked incredulously. John just rolled his eyes.

“Who was it that just saved you from certain death? We’d be helping each other, dumbass, and then we’d split it” he said, “and it’s either that or neither of us go.” Dave mulled this over in his head, considering the idea. He made a fair point, although he wasn’t particularly happy about the prospect of being stuck with the obviously goofy, empty boy for god knows how long.

“Alright,” he sighed finally, “fine. We’ll split the treasure sixty-forty.”

“Har har, Dave,” John said, crossing his arms, “fifty-fifty. When are you ready to go?” Dave gave a listless sort of shrug.

“I could cut all ties and be out of here by tomorrow morning,” he said, rolling the idea around in his head. Gone. Gone by tomorrow. No more smith, no more weapons, no more small ass town.

“Sweet! Me too!” he replied, “meet here at like, I dunno, six o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“Wait, isn’t your Dad gonna notice you gone?” he asked, suddenly realizing one of a million flaws in this cracked and breaking plan. John just looked at him strangely, laughing a little.

“Real funny Dave,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Okay, so we’re gonna need food, and money, and camping stuff like blankets...”

 

Dave half listened as John listed out the various things they were going to need, the excitement of adventuring somewhat dampened by the prospect of company. Dave had always envisioned himself as the stoic adventurer, going off bravely alone into the mist, ready for anything. Having a sidekick kind of ruined the whole vibe he was hoping for. Anyway, most of what the boy said seemed like common sense until he got to the end of the list.

“Oh, and do you think you could bring like a knife or a sword or something?” he asked, looking at Dave with huge, round eyes.

“What?” he asked, the idea of stealing from the Smith frankly terrifying him beyond belief.

“Well, you heard what that McMahon guy said!” John replied earnestly, “we could run into serious trouble! What if, y’know, a guy tries to mug us? Or _stab_ us? We could end up getting really badly hurt! It’s just better if we have something.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one robbing that fucking goliath of a man. Shit, he’s like a goddamned statue. He could probably snap my neck with a flick of his wrist,” Dave insisted, feeling himself babble but totally unable to stop himself.

“What are you, a chicken?” John asked, laughing a little, “he’s just a guy.”

“He’s a guy who’s seven feet tall and has been hammering metal all his life,” he replied defensively.

“Please, Dave?”

“Ugh.”

“ _Pleeeeaaaasseeee_ , Dave?”

“Fine,” he sighed. That would not be a pleasant evening.

“Awesome!” he chirped, finally getting to his feet and dusting down the seat of his pants, “I guess I’ll see you here tomorrow!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dave said, lumbering to his feet and forcing a smile. They stood in silence a while.

“So...” John started. Dave glanced around, remembering suddenly that he was stood on the roof of the tallest building in town. He turned back to John, his brow furrowed.

“How, exactly, do we get down?”

 

After some complicated maneuvering, and one moment of sheer, unadulterated terror, the two boys made it to the ground. The light was leaving the town by now, and the sky fading to a pale blue, hinting at the spotted navy of the sky to follow it. Safely on the ground and ensuring they both had half a map with them, the boys retreated to their separate sides of the town.

“Hey!” John called out at Dave, who was on the opposite end of the square, “I think I remember why you look so familiar!”

“Yeah?” Dave asked, intrigued.

“You’re the kid that used to push me in the mud after school, asshole!” Dave felt a twinge of guilt, but the tone John had taken said that there were no real hard feelings.

“I’ll make it up to you by making you a motherfucking millionaire !” Dave called out. John laughed a little, waved goodbye, and turned a corner out of his sight.

 

* * *

 

Back at the balacksmith’s, the light had faded enough to make it difficult to see within the depths of the warm, damp building. The furnace was still glowing, but had died down to its embers from the general negligence of a smith who was probably nursing a hangover, and an apprentice chasing his dreams. The whole thing still felt surreal, and the concept of his leaving wasn’t quite tangible. He’d lived his whole life in this sad little town, and he couldn’t imagine anything beyond it. Would he stumble across anything like this village again? Would he forget the exact population, or the place he’d lived ages five through ten? More importantly, would anyone remember him?

 

He wandered through to the front of the store, where people actually ordered and bought and delivered and collected the various weapons that’d been shaped in the back room. A collection of swords glittered dangerously in the evening light, reflecting the pale yellow that came streaming in through the one window on their shiny, unblemished hilts. The knives sat splayed out across the counter, and Dave picked one up, tossing it experimentally.

 

“What’re you going t’do with that, boy?” came the familiar gravelly voice from behind him. Dave jumped, dropping the knife back on the counter. _I really ought to tie a bell around his neck or something_ , Dave thought, _it’s pretty fucking annoying the way he sneaks around silently_. He turned around to see the enormous man leaning in the doorway, regarding him with a cool interest. Dave leaned against the counter.

“You weren’t thinking of stealing that, were you?” the Smith asked, his tone bordering on amusement. Dave shook his head adamantly.

“No, sir,” he said, standing up a little straighter, “Just admiring the handiwork,” Dave said, stretching his mouth into a thin smile. The Smith nodded to the paper still stuck in the elastic of his trousers.

“And what’s that?”

“This? Just a, uh,” Dave struggled for an explanation, one that made sense, one that meant he got to keep the apparently worthless scrap. The Smith snorted, shaking his head.

“Don’t bother, boy. I know a map when I see one,” he said, pushing himself off the doorway, “You’re going adventuring, aren’t you?” Dave searched for another explanation, but he drew a blank. The only thing his malfunctioning mind was offering him was a question he knew he’d never ask; How did he know that?

“Yes,” he rasped finally. The Smith nodded to himself.

“Well, I hope you weren’t planning on stealing that,” the Smith said, moving forward, “that is a knife designed for a lady to hide up her skirt. It won’t do the kind o’ damage you’re hoping for.”

“Okay,” Dave said, still shell-shocked from the total willingness of the Smith to help him. He was scanning the rows of swords. He muttered to himself as his fingers danced along the hilts and scabbards of each sword.

“Heavy, heavy, light, medium, medium, heavy, light, ah-” he selected a longsword, pulling it out of its scabbard to admire it in the dying light.

“Pure steel, balance of +3, broad fuller cross-section, good for hand to hand,” he said, admiring the way it glinted and dazzled. The sides were razor sharp, and when angled just right it appeared as though the sword wasn’t there at all.

“Expensive,” Dave muttered.

“Yours,” the Smith said, returning it to its scabbard and holding it out to him. Dave’s eyes bugged out, staring at the weapon like it was the most immeasurably precious thing on the earth.

“I don’t know how to…” Dave trailed off, unable to process the train of events.

“Y’pick it up,” the Smith shrugged. There was another silence, filled with Dave’s heavy stares.

“Why?” was all he asked, ripping his eyes away from the sword to search the Smith’s.

 

For the first time in Dave’s presence, the Smith broke into a broad, gap-toothed grin.

“Boy, y’don’t think I was born in this town, d’you?” he asked, a twinkle that Dave had never seen in the corner of his eye.

“You...what?” Dave asked, no less confused. The Smith chuckled, low and gravely.

“I know a map when I see one. I came across plenty,” he said, the smile still sitting easily on his face, creasing the corners of his eyes and the skin on his forehead, “and nobody deserves to live in this town forever.” Dave took the sword carefully, feeling its reassuring weight in his calloused and blistered hands. He fished for something to say, but nothing came to mind.

“I’m resigning from my position as apprentice,” he mumbled, hoping that the Smith would hear it.

 

He sighed, regarding Dave in a new light as he turned the sword over in his hands.

“If I’m honest with you,” he said after a while, “I never did learn your name, Boy.” Dave looked up at him.

“And if I’m honest with you, I never learned yours,” Dave replied. The Smith chuckled again, seeming in Dave’s eyes suddenly fifty years older.

“Just so,” the Smith said to himself, and Dave had no idea what he meant by that, “just so.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving is harder than you'd think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a S/O to Plink, my awesome + beautiful beta for the constant encouragement and picking out the typos
> 
> I'd also like to give a S/O to Comet_Dreams for being such an avid fan of this young piece already(!) (you are a very sweet person <3)
> 
> And without further adieu, here we gooooooo!

John, as usual, dutifully woke up from his restless sleep the moment the birds began to sing. And because the birds in his part of the world began to sing the moment that the sun began to crest over the horizon line, and because the summer was in full swing, John was awoken by the high pitched screaming of a bird outside his window at approximately four in the morning. He huffed, burying his face further into his pillow. There was nothing for him, nothing apart from cold ovens and yeast, and that angry little snapdragon of an apprentice.

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking blearily around the room. Without his glasses, it was difficult to make out much other than shapes and colours. A quick glance around his spartan bedroom revealed one staggering difference; there was a fully packed backpack leaning against the dresser. He blinked at it, reaching out for the thin pieces of glass that translated the vague shapes and colours into intelligible objects. The backpack became sharper, with the rolled up blanket tied to the top and the bulging sides shimmering into clarity. He laughed to himself. He almost looked like an-

Map. Dave. Treasures of a dead king. He was leaving.

He was leaving _today_.

John, suddenly filled with a new energy that he rarely possessed in the mornings, leapt out of bed and rushed to get dressed. No more yeast, no more cold ovens, and (perhaps the greatest part of the whole ordeal) no more baking. Ever! If this went right, he’d probably never even have to work again. He was free! And it was all-wait-no. No, it wasn’t quite all his. There was that other boy, the one covered in soot. The blacksmith’s apprentice, John remembered with a shudder. He had a bit of a reputation, the Smith. John wondered briefly if Dave had survived the encounter, and then if he would bother washing the soot off.

Despite Dave’s apparent coldness, John was glad to have someone around. Two heads were better than one, his father used to say (loudly and often). Besides, he got the feeling it could get pretty lonely out on the road. He guessed that was partly why that McMahon guy was so desperate for people to listen to him, and probably why he got drunk early in the afternoon on what appeared to be a regular basis. So, despite his abrasiveness, John was glad to have Dave, even if Dave wasn’t glad to have John.

John kicked the old, tacky shorts he usually slept in to one side, slinging on the pack and pulling the map out of its pocket, carefully folded in half. From what he could tell, it was a map showing the general county that he lived in, and it was strange and exciting to him that he lived in the same area as an ancient, magical treasure. It was odd that MM never mentioned this to him, but it was probably for his own good. MM mentioned very few things unless it was absolutely necessary, and, knowing the old man, probably didn’t want John distracted by things like fairy tales when he had a trade to learn.

MM was an old man who lived in the town, known as simply MM to everyone. Little children assumed it stood for Mister Marcus, and as they grew up and realized what an odd thing it was to think (they’d never heard anyone call him Marcus), they accepted with the sort of defeatist attitude only adolescents posses that he was called MM, that his mother had written on his birth certificate ‘Em-Em’, and that he would always be called MM. Depending on who was asking, he was a fireworks maker, a librarian, a collector of rare books, or just an eccentric old man. Only John and his father had ever learned what exactly MM stood for.

John stuffed his pajamas into the bag and clomped noisily down the stairs to the bakery. He glanced around at the bags and bags of flour, the nicely kept boxes of yeast, the sugar and eggs and the bucket they used to collect water from the well. He felt a pang, a sort of quiet sadness mixed with the smallest little bit of guilt. _The apprentice would be fine_ , John told himself, _and even if he wasn’t, the townspeople weren’t going to starve to death without bread_. He pulled out a little bit of the wax paper they wrapped the bread in, and scribbled a hasty note to Karkat, who was now just the baker.

_“TO: Karkat, the Baker”_

John frowned. It didn’t look quite right. Karkat didn’t seem like the kind of person who could be just The Baker. He added to the title.

_“TO: Karkat, the Baker’s Apprentice”_

__

It still didn’t look quite right, written out on the page like that. It implied that John was the baker, and not the Baker’s son, as everyone new him. He supposed that strictly speaking he was just the baker now, and had been for some time. It didn’t sit right with him. He’d always felt that the title ‘The Baker’s son’ was more appropriate for him than simply ‘the Baker’. And Karkat wasn’t his dad’s apprentice; he was John’s. He scribbled it out, adding more to the increasingly long title.

_“TO: Karkat, the Baker’s ~~Apprentice~~  SON’S Apprentice;”_

__

Yeah. That looked about right.

_“TO: Karkat, the Baker’s_ ~~Apprentice~~ SON’S Apprentice;"  
"I’ve gone adventuring. Dunno when I’ll be back, or if I’ll EVER be back, but until I do, you’re the baker! Congrats! Don’t set the ovens too high or they’ll catch fire."   
"-John”

__

The last bit about the ovens catching fire was a total lie. It was true that the ovens could be a little temperamental, but they were sturdy enough not to spontaneously combust. Karkat just had a bad habit of burning things, because he’d get impatient and keep adding wood, until the bread was black on the outside, raw in the middle, and all of it was unsellable. This way, John thought, the temperature would stay low enough for the bread to come out just right. He left the note where Karkat would be sure to see it, and opened the door.

In the early light, the town looked different. Purer. Cleaner, even. In the thin white light of the morning, everything shined with dew and sparkled with unmarred purity. He realised that he’d never see this exact view again, that he’d never walk through the streets lugging a pail of water, as everyone watched and roused their families saying “there goes the baker’s son”. He realized that he’d never be known to anyone as the Baker’s son ever again. That he’d never hear them whispering gossip about MM, or about anyone. He’d never hear gossip that held meaning. He’d never see the pity in people’s eyes as he passed, or listen to them talk about his father’s apparent romantic interest in MM, or hear the quiet town hum with ‘did you hear about the Baker’s son? Did you hear that the Baker’s son likes it up the ass?’.

John scowled. Yeah, he wasn’t going to miss it all that much. He’d lived here a long time, but leaving was like peeling off an old bandage that didn’t quite want to come loose. It stung, but was accompanied by the knowledge that he would never ever have to pull that old bandage off again. He stepped out the door and walked quickly, quietly through the streets to the church.

He wasn’t sure why he agreed on six o’clock, as there was no real way to tell the time. Everything was pretty screwy, and John usually just used the timer in the bakery. Assuming he’d gotten up at 4:00, and it took two hours for the bread to rise, and fourty five minutes to make them, then the bakery would open at around 6:45 in the morning. And assuming it took about two and a half hours start to finish for the cakes to bake, cool, be decorated and be put out in the window, and they were only make-to-order, it was usually around 9:15 when he was finished with the cakes, which was when he had breakfast, and-

The point is, John had no real idea of when six o’clock was. He also had a generally horrendous measure of time, so he had no idea what time he’d gotten to the church yard. He walked up the steps and sat down on the third one, letting his breath fall out of him with a huff. It was chilly, in the morning, but John didn’t mind. It would only get warmer throughout the day. He looked around, snorting to himself at the memory of the duel, and was struck with a worrying realization.

What if McMahon came back?

He was likely to be pissed, and hungover (only making him more pissed), and unlike Dave, was probably very ready to beat the shit out of two eighteen year old boys.

“He’s probably still asleep, John said under his breath, more to himself than anyone. There was a pause, a moment of calm silence.

“But he IS an adventurer, John said, glancing around, “he probably wakes up super early anyway!”

“Yeah, okay, John said again, breathing a heavy exhale, but when was the last time he drank like, five litres of crazy alcoholic ale?” He felt marginally better.

“Okay,” he said to himself, “but-” A shadow fell across his line of vision. John’s blood ran cold.

“Are you sitting out here talking to yourself?” Dave asked. John let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaping to his feet. The excitement was creeping back into his system, replacing the anxiety with nothing but positive thoughts and a bubbly feeling.

“Dave!” he said, feeling the grin stretch his dry lips. Even though he was standing a little way aways, and John was on the third step, they were barely eye to eye. Or they would have been, except Dave was wearing the goggles he wore to do whatever it is blacksmiths did. His face fell a little. Was dave backing out? He really hoped Dave wasn’t going to back out. Even if he did give up his half of the map willingly, he’d been excited to have company on the road.

“What’s with the glasses?” he asked, mildly concerned about the response.

“Eyes get sensitive,” Dave mumbled. John snorted. Dave was a terrible liar. He gave him a sweeping look, noticing that, for once in his life, Dave was approaching presentable. His hair, albeit shaggy, was clean and free of soot. His pale face wasn’t marred by some weird paste of soot and sweat, and his (somewhat raggedy) clothes were freshly washed. Dave carried a slightly smaller pack, but it was what hung on his waist that really caught John’s eye.

“Woah,” he breathed. A sword. An honest to god sword, sheathed in it scabbard. He had no idea how much that would cost, but he guessed it would be more than he saw in the bakery on a weekly basis.

“Yeah, right?” Dave agreed, pulling out the sword. John flinched back a little to avoid being hit, but there was no need. Dave just held the blade in his hands for John to inspect. His eyes roamed hungrily over the thing, taking in everything.

“When I said ‘get a knife’ I was thinking more like, I dunno, a butter knife or a steak knife,” John laughed breathlessly, “this is _much_ better!”

“I got a whetstone and everything,” Dave said, sheathing the sword again, “but I have no idea how to use it.”

“How hard can it be?” John shrugged, “I mean, just swing it around and aim to do grievous bodily damage!” Dave snorted, digging his hands into his pockets.

“True.”

“You have your half of the map, right?” Dave asked after a while. John rolled his eyes.

“No, I lost the most valuable thing that’s ever come into my hands,” he replied, shrugging.

“Well shit,” Dave sighed, “looks like I’m gonna hafta chop off your head.” John laughed a little, and there was a silence.

“Seriously though let’s see the map,” Dave said, holding out a hand. John shrugged off his pack, pulling out the carefully folded piece of parchment. Dave fished around in his pocket, producing an equally nicely folded scrap of paper. In almost perfect synchronization, they unfolded their scraps of paper, checking them for any blemishes. John skipped down the stairs, and they pressed their bits of the map together.

Suddenly the squiggles, the half-finished key, the compass rose, the various half-finished names shimmered into meaning, their secrets ready to be spliced and opened.

“Okay, so we’re here,” Dave said, using the hand that wasn’t holding the map to point to their town; a little blot of a thing.

“And I’m guessing that the treasure is here,” John said, pointing to the little ‘O’ that circled a forest that appeared fairly close.

“Alright, so we leave here, go south, and we should get to this city which is about...uh...I’m gonna say about two hundred miles away from here, and it’s called...” Dave squinted at a larger city with a smudged out name.

“D...Derse?” John said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Derse? Okay, so we get to Derse like, two days from now, and stay there a night, keep going south and boom. We’re rich as fuck,” Dave said,

“What are these other two cities marked for?” he asked. Two other cities, one even further south of the forest and one a long way east were marked, one with a little stick figure and the other with a doodle of fire.

“Whoever had this map last musta gotten bored,” Dave shrugged. He pulled his half away, and John was left to puzzle over it. No way they’d just scribble all over some valuable map. Whatever. If it became a problem, he’d work it out. _They’d_ work it out.

“Well,” John said, looking up at the steadily climbing sun, “If that’s east...then...uh, never eat sandwich...” John turned on the spot, gesturing vaguely with his hands. His dad had always thought it would be important for him to be able to tell direction with only the sun.

“There!” John said triumphantly, pointing to a road that led back past the blacksmith’s, “that way’s south. C’mon!” John returned his bit of the map to his bag, hiking it up and heading off. Dave followed, a few steps behind.

“What was that about sandwiches?” Dave asked, quickly catching up to John’s eager, brisk pace.

“It’s how you tell direction!” he chirped, “Never, North, eat, East, sandwich, South, water, West.” Dave’s silence told John that he was no less bemused.

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath. John giggled a little.

Pretty soon they’d reached the town’s southern gate, which neither boy knew they had. They stood there, staring at it.

“Goodbye, I guess,” John said under his breath.

“Goodbye, old man who’s been trying to get me to buy his fucking lemons for the last five years,” Dave said thoughtfully. He turned to John, the corners of his lips turned up in the quietest amused smile, “I swear, those lemons are either the best lemons in the world, or he’s just a fucking weird old man.”

John giggled a little. “Goodbye, Karkat. Don’t burn the bread.”

“Goodbye, Smith. I have no clue what your name actually is, and I don’t give a shit,” Dave said, spinning on his heels to walk backwards out through the gate.

“Goodbye, Jake the fisherman’s son! Fuck you, and all the trouble you’ve caused me!” John laughed, following Dave’s lead. He spun on his heels and got one last good look at the town of, now, exactly one hundred and six people, most of whom were sleeping.

“Goodbye, mud puddle I used to push John in!”

“Goodbye, mud puddle I used to get pushed in!”

“Goodbye, loud priest! I can tell you I’m NOT gonna miss your sermons!”

“Goodbye, potter who lives on the south wall!” Dave opened his mouth to holler something else, but the aforementioned potter had stepped angrily out of his house, and hurled a clay pot at the boys’ feet. Startled by his wordless, angry yelling and the sharp shattering of the pot, they turned and ran out onto the road, laughing and cheering and hollering as they went.

~+~+~

The cheerful, energetic attitude they had lasted all of fifteen minutes. After that, Dave clammed up, and they walked along the uneven dirt road at a more reasonable pace. They slipped into a silence, despite John’s best efforts. The conversations had all been similar.

“Wow! Can you believe we were living so close to old treasure?” John would chirp.

“Nope.”

“Jeez, it’s gonna be so cool! Do you think you’ll go back after it’s all over?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, me either. Too many bad memories, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, Dave look at that bird!”

“Cool.”

“It’s so beautiful! Like, the feathers were all-”

“I saw it.”

“I’ve never seen one in town. Have you?”

“Nope”

And so forth.

It seemed odd to John, how quietly Dave walked. It wasn’t even the lack of conversation, but his footfalls also didn’t seem to make any noise. His breathing seemed quieter, and he never stepped on loose twigs. His pack swayed slightly with his movements, appearing uneven thanks to the one hand he had on the hilt of the sword. He was like a knight, John thought with a chill, like a real adventurer, hardened by his travels and hardship on the road. John, by contrast, walked noisily. He kicked loose rocks off and into the underbrush, he hummed wordless songs to himself, and his footfalls seemed loud and heavy. It was the excitement, he decided. Dave was more focused on the treasure, where as John was just excited to be going.

By the time they stopped to scarf down some breakfast, the sun was high in the sky, but the morning promised to be cool without being cold, perfect traveling weather. John looked behind them, but the town had already faded into the backdrop. John chewed loudly on his stale roll. Dave, who was eating some sort of citrus fruit, was still silent. It was beginning to bother John by now, who was used to having long conversations with the customers that wandered in and out of his shop.

“You’re awful quiet,” John said, not bothering to hide the slight edge in his voice.

“Am I?” he replied absently, glancing around the rock they’d chosen to sit on whilst they ate. He didn’t have to bother; John wasn’t sure that anyone had used this path regularly.

“Yeah,” John said, watching him carefully, “something eating you?” Dave shrugged.

“Not much,” he said. John felt his temper rise, fought to control it, and gave in.

“Coulda fooled me,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Dave looked over at him, eyebrows raised. John stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth and waited for a response.

“Okay, you really wanna know what’s ‘eating me’?” he spat, rising to his full height. John felt something sink, like his chest was suddenly made of stone. He didn’t let it show.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked,” he replied, straightening his own posture.

“‘What’s eating me’ is the way you just walked out on your dad like that,” Dave replied, leaning down to John’s height. Everything came to a crashing stop. That was not what he was expecting. That was not what he was expecting at all, and the sheer absurdity of the statement made him stop in his tracks.

“My Dad?” was all he managed. This only served to rattle Dave’s bones more.

“You got fucking lucky, man,” he said, his voice raising, “Most kids never knew their Dad, and if they did they were stuck with an abusive alcoholic, or some useless unemployed deadbeat. But you got the _town baker_ who obviously loved you, and fed you well enough-”

“Hey!”

“-and you just weren’t fucking happy were you? You just had to get up and leave, search for fame or riches or whatever it is you’re looking for out here. I’m not gonna lie, that privilege is kinda pissing me off.” Dave sat back, apparently pleased with the effect he’d created, and waited for John’s response. He just tilted his head a little.

“You really have no clue, do you?” he said, more to himself than anything else. Dave scoffed, and John just knew he was rolling his eyes behind the tinted glass.

“No idea about what? Is your old man secretly an asshole, and the whole ‘giving candy to street kids for free’ is just a front?” Dave asked, sneering a little. John just blinked at him.

“My dad died,” John said, “he’s been dead for like six months.” Dave’s face fell so fast, John couldn’t help but laugh, even though it was just a breathy, ghost of a laugh.

“What?” Dave asked quietly.

“Yeah. Some weird disease. I’ve been running the bakery since then!” John said, grinning despite the subject matter. Dave’s horrified face was just too good.

“I...shit man, I didn’t...fuck, seriously?” he stuttered. John nodded back

“You don’t get out much, do you?” he laughed.

“Fuck, I take it all back, I just...shit...fuck I’m sorry, I-” Dave stammered, taking a few steps back. The blood was rushing to his face, turning what was once a pale face to the approximate colour of a ripe tomato. John bent double, laughing until tears fogged up his glasses.

“It’s fine, Dave! It’s fine!” He choked out between his hysterical laughter, “you didn’t know, I’m just...holy shit!”

John had hoped that Dave would be a little more talkative after he got all that out of his system, but he was just as quiet and awkward as he had been earlier.

“So,” John said, speeding up a little to keep pace with Dave’s long legs, “have you ever left the town before?” Dave hesitated, looking down at John.

“Once,” he said slowly, like he was still deciding whether or not he should talk to John, “The Smith had this order, from some old lady who was apparently too sick to travel. Shit was like some sickly donkey, ancient but totally inert, snorting and huffing n’ shit. I had to stay by her bedside while she told me these long and rambling stories about her family. Kept calling me Geoffrey as well, which was weird as fuck. I said, y’know, ‘Hey miss I dunno who the fuck this Geoffrey guy is, but my name’s Dave’ like fifty times, and she’d just nod like ‘sure, whatever, Geoffrey’.  The worst part was that she’d ordered this huge great sword, like, the kind that takes five days to make and two hands to wield. I have no idea why she needed this huge ass sword, but hey, she had it anyway. Anyway, I remember that she smelled like-”

“What was it like?” John asked finally. He got the feeling that Dave would just keep going if John didn’t stop him.

“The city? Or the sword, because that sword was a beast. I swear, the thing looked big on the smith, which is pretty fucking impressive considering the s-”

“The city, Dave,” John replied, laughing a little.

“Oh,” he said quietly, and stopped to think, “It was...big. Like, more people could fit in their town square than we probably have, uh, had in our lil’ old town. And it smelled like shit, man. I nearly turned blue trying to avoid breathing.” John scowled.

“You don’t think it’ll be like that in uh...” he fished for the name.

“Derse?” Dave offered.

“Yeah! Do you think it’ll be like that in Derse?” he asked, looking up at the other boy. Dave shrugged, sticking out his bottom lip a little.

“I honestly have no fucking clue. Apart from that one other city, the outside world’s a puzzle to me,” Dave said.

“A mystery,”  John agreed.

“Wrapped in an enigma,” Dave added. They walked in silence after that.

It struck John for the first time that what he was doing was crazy dangerous. He’d never been outside of his small town, and so had no idea what was safe and what was dangerous, what was a good deal and when he was being swindled. Running headlong into a new city, a new city he’d never even heard of before, a new city without any indication of crime rate or poverty rate or anything. John was essentially running absolutely blind into a potentially hairy situation.

He looked up at Dave again, who’d fallen into silence, his eyes (hopefully) dead-set on the road in front of him. Dave had an angular sort of face, his nose was tall and pointed, his face long and slender, and his mussy hair caught the morning light and glittered like spun silk. John assumed he was attractive, but given his track record in the village, he avoided thinking it with all his might. Aside from Dave’s attractive face, he carried himself with the sort of attitude that implied he was constantly annoyed at everything going on around him. Add that to his height, and he was probably a fairly formidable force to see on the road. John was once again overcome with relief to have him around.

* * *

 

They walked in silence for most of the day, the conversations light and short and rare. They stopped, and ate their lunch in silence. They kept walking. The road was flat, and wasn’t terribly difficult to walk along. Dave still had that look on his face, something about the way his lips pursed a little and the slightly hunched shoulders made him think that he was still just feeling weird about the whole dad conversation.

And later, whilst they were setting up their camp, he was proved right.

They’d managed to find a little field full of wildflowers, as well as an over hanging rock. The weather looked clear enough, but it would be a rude awakening if they woke up and were soaked to the bone. They agreed to lay their mats down under the rock, and start a fire, and do whatever until they got tired enough to sleep. They’d dumped their packs, and Dave was coming back with armfuls of sticks and John was fishing out whatever meat he’d remembered to pack. He realized, cursing himself, that he’d only packed enough for a day.  This was still more than what Dave had brought, which only turned out to be enough for a two meals. John had packed some little cubes of meat, which they were planning to just cook over a fire. It wasn’t going to taste particularly good, but they were both hungry beyond the point of caring.

“Hey uh,” Dave said suddenly, John looked up from the stick he was stabbing meat onto. Dave was standing a little way aways from him, his arms full of dry sticks.

“Yeah, just put ‘em down with the rest of them,” John said absently. Dave didn’t move, and when John looked up again, his glasses had been pushed up into his hair. Dave’s eyes were a startling red, and John remembered the pastor saying something about how “the devil walks among us” in the blacksmith’s or something. John had assumed that the pastor just really, really hated the blacksmith. Apparently not.

“Something wrong?” John asked, the anxiety coming back. This was when the elephant in the room got acknowledged, when Dave said he didn’t want to be sleeping anywhere near John, how he wanted to turn back and-

“I wanted to apologize, like, properly for earlier,” he said, eyes firmly pointed at the ground, “It was a, uh, a dick move on my part. And I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dave, honestly,” he replied, shrugging. He’d rather not talk about it, “You just didn’t know.”

“I still shouldn’t have been poking around there,” he insisted, taking half a step closer, “I mean, I have no idea what he’s like, really. He could’ve been an asshole for all I know, one of those guy’s who’s patient and saintly and shit to everyone except his kid. Like the pastor?” John nodded, shrugging. There was a silence. John sighed. Dave wasn’t going to leave it alone, so he just had to come out and say it.

“You were right, though. He was pretty much the best Dad I could’ve asked for,” he replied, turning his attention back to dinner, “kind and supportive and all that stuff you said about him. I really uh,” he sniffed a little, hoping that Dave hadn’t heard it, “I really miss him.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“I’m just gonna...” Dave said, dropping the pile noisily and backing away as quickly as he could manage. John watched him go, laughing a little to himself.

He looked pretty intimidating, but Dave was actually a super dorky guy.

Once it was clear that Dave had disappeared again, and that there was no chance of him returning for a little while, John carefully placed the meat stick onto his mat and knelt by the pile of sticks. He bit his lip, glancing around frugally. He’d be in trouble if anyone saw. He’d be in big ass trouble. Satisfied that nobody could see him where he was, he rubbed his hands together and sighed heavily. He clasped them together, the thumb of his left hand cradled gently in the palm of his right, and brought them close to the pile of sticks and leaves. In one quick movement, he ran his thumb across the palm of his hand. Nothing. He heaved a huge sigh out through his nose, and tried again. Nothing.

“C’mon, you piece of,” he muttered under his breath. He shut his eyes, hoping this would help him concentrate, and did it one last time.

Sparks flew from his palm to the pile of sticks, igniting the smallest little bit of kindling. John’s face lit up, and he pressed his face to the ground, gently encouraging the flame. In a few short minutes, they had a roaring fire.

MM, the old man in the village, had not been a fireworks maker. Nor had he been a librarian, or a collector of rare books, or even just an eccentric old man. He had been a Mage. Magnum Mathews, MM. He kept this to himself, because of the widespread stigma directed at mages. The only reason John had found out what it stood for was because of the fact that that he was showing early signs of elemental-like powers, like John’s unusually high jump (boosted by the air) and speed (thanks, again, to the wind). MM had taken John in as his apprentice, teaching him how to control the four major elements of the world. He’d been brilliant at manipulating the air, but pretty terrible at everything else. ‘No problem,’ MM had said frequently, ‘you are only young. You will learn’. Unfortunately, the King banned magic and mages when John had just turned fourteen, and anyone caught practicing, teaching, or even talking about magic was marked for execution. So MM, who was quickly found out, was taken away to the capital, and John’s lessons had been cut short. What little he could do, like the way he could start fires, the way he could move large rocks around easily, the way he could make it so he never seemed to get wet when he crossed rivers, and his extensive and useless powers with the air around him had stuck with him for life.

This was one of the many things he hoped Dave never, ever, _ever_ learned about him.

He sat back on his haunches, roasting the little cubes of meat, and waited for Dave to come back. He only showed his face again once the sun began to sink below the horizon line, and everything was bathed in an orange sort of glow. He returned with an armful of wood, which he dropped on the pile with his last armful. He carefully set a pot full of what John assumed to be water on the edges of the fire and moved to stand next to John.

“Holy shit,” Dave said, collapsing on his ass, “That is a nice-ass fire.”

“Why thank you, good sir,” John said, bowing his head a little, “Dinner shall be served in about three to five minutes.” Dave snorted, and they fell into a silence. They both started talking at the same time, their words bumping into each other clumsily in the air.

“I think-” John started.

“What have-” Dave started. They both shut up, looking expectantly at each other. John tried again.

“I think it’s only fair that I dredge up some stuff about your family now,” he said smiling a little. Dave nodded in agreement, peeling the glasses off the top of his head.”

“There’s not really a lot to know,” Dave said with a shrug, “my parents both died when I was little. I don’t remember much of ‘em.”

“Aw man, that kinda sucks,” John said, looking over at Dave. He just shook his head.

“I never knew them. You can't miss what you never knew,” he said plainly. It was obvious on his face that this, unlike John’s polite deflection of people’s pity, was not a well-rehearsed lie, but rather the truth.

“I grew up with my older brother,” Dave continued, “who was an ass. Like, he put food on the table but god damn, he was a fucking idiot.” He turned to look John in the eyes for the first time on the trip, “ you know what he used to consider an appropriate evening meal?”

“What?” John asked, feeling his mouth quirk up into a smile,

“Fucking raw _cabbage_ and _oranges_ ,” he said, huffing. John doubled over, laughing hysterically.

“No way!”

“I’m serious,” he replied, a smile beginning to form on his face, “he’d be like ‘yo David, come on down and eat your dinner’, and he’d just stick me in front of a whole goddamn cabbage and an orange. Shit was like some sort of weird-ass painting trying to make a point about society. Except instead of a painting, it was an actual “meal” I was expected to eat.” John laughed loud and long, and by the end of it he was coughing a little.

“What happened to him?” John asked, giggling a little. Dave just shrugged.

“Fucked if I know. I assume he just up and left one day,” he said, and left it at that. _I guess that explains_ , John thought, _why he was so upset about the idea of me abandoning Dad._

“Well grub’s up, and I can promise you that it’s not just some raw vegetables,” he said, laughing a little.

“Aw sick, badly cooked, unnamed meat,” Dave said, pulling a cube off the end of the stick and stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed frantically and swallowed, panting a little.

“I was going to warn you it’d be hot,” John said, picking off a piece and blowing on it. He stuck it in his mouth, ignored the burning sensation that accompanied it, and forced himself to swallow.

“Alright,” Dave said, picking off another piece, “I was gonna ask you what you’ve heard about me. I’m sure there are like, half a dozen rumors. I just wanna clear the air.”

“Only that the pastor thinks you’re the devil,” John said, raking his brain, “oh, and that YOU were the guy who took old man McGee’s pans.”

“I can safely say that no, old man McGee’s precious pans are not in my possession, and I am unfortunately not satan,” Dave said, shrugging.

“Well, what have you heard about me?” John asked, preparing himself for the inevitable.

“Nothing other than that you’re the baker’s son,” Dave replied, cramming more meat into his mouth, “are there any rumors going around about you?” John mulled the idea over in his head. Dave was probably the only person in the village who hadn’t heard anything about him. A clean slate was, for John, nothing to sneeze at.

“None that I’ve heard!” he replied, offering the last blackened bit of meat to Dave. He just shook his head, and John shoved it in his mouth. Dave kept watching the fire, slipping deep into thought. John just shook his head. Dave had really never heard the story? _He really doesn’t get out much_ , he thought.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and they curled up close to the fire in an attempt to ward off the chill of the night. Dave flopped over on his back and was breathing softly in a matter of minutes, but John remained awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s rest, and always moved around in his sleep, tossing and turning in an attempt to ward off the nightmares. Nobody knew about those. Not MM, not his dad, and certainly not Dave. The main reason he hadn’t told anyone about them was because he could barely remember them as soon as he woke up. And if he did, it was only snippets, little bits and pieces and half-formed images of the dream rather than a coherent picture. As soon as he woke up, the nightmare was forgotten, like smoke. It still made for a pretty shitty night.

John sighed, turning over to watch the stars shine in the deep blue sky. He smiled softly, watching the way they shimmered and dazzled in the cool night air. With that image behind his eyelids, fully dressed and desperately clutching his pack to his body out of fear of thieves in the night, he slipped into a fitful slumber.

* * *

John woke up slightly damp from the morning dew, and squinted around in the blurry morning light. The birds were, as usual, singing loudly and annoyingly. John rubbed at his eyes, picking up his glasses from where they fell off and into the soft grass during the night. He glanced over at the pile of ash and blackened branches that was once their fire, and let his eyes roam over to where Dave slept. He snorted, slapping his hand to his face in an attempt to stifle his loud and annoying laugh.

“That can _not_ be comfortable,” he said under his breath, trying to work out how, exactly, Dave had managed to get his legs tangled up like that. He heaved a sigh and laid back down, deciding to wait until Dave actually woke up to get going again.

One thing that nobody ever tells you about adventuring is the long stretches of boredom you must suffer. Nestled in between the frantic packing and the cooking your own food is a gap where you have nothing to do; no books, no games, no buildings to climb. The boredom sinks into you then, filling up your bones as it strikes you that you have nothing, nothing, to do. No obligations or chores, no way to patch up the gaps in your day.

The point being, John got very bored very fast. He packed up his bag. He checked to make sure that he’d packed everything. He unpacked it. He re-packed it. He decided that he was feeling a little grungy and changed his clothes. He packed up his dirty clothes. He waited. He identified three different wild flowers, and after all this was done he’d managed to waste about thirty minutes.

Dave, from his contortionist’s sleeping position, was still snoring.

John gave in. He got to his feet and rolled up his mat, strapping it to his bag. He moved over to crouch next to Dave’s face.

“Hey, Dave,” he said quietly. Dave wrinkled up his nose and flopped over from his stomach to his back, crushing his right arm in the process. John giggled quietly.

“Dave, c’mon,” he said, nudging Dave’s elbow, “it’s time to get going! We could reach Derse by...uh...midday probably!”

“Don’ wanna...” Dave mumbled, his forehead wrinkling up.

“You don’t want to be a rich man?” he asked, shaking Dave a little more forcefully, “Get up, Dave! Up and at ‘em!”

“Nooooo,” Dave mumbled, flopping around listlessly, “don’ make me.”

“If the birds are up, then you can be up too,” he said, echoing his dad’s saying.

“But I hate birds,” Dave huffed, rolling onto his side. John rolled his eyes.

“Get up, Dave,” he sighed, pulling the mat out from under the other boy. Dave rolled off, startling awake. He looked around, squinting in the morning’s unusually bright light. John gave him a wide smile.

“Day two!” he chirped and began absently scattering the ashes from their fire. Dave blinked sleepily.

“Wha’s for breakfast?” he asked, picking up the tinted goggles.

“Nothing, until we get to Derse,” John replied. He looked over to see Dave’s jaw hanging open.

“You’re shitting me,” he said, face blank, “It’ll take...what, five hours of walking to get there?”

“Yeah, so we’ll get there by like, mid morning!” John said, “Just in time for breakfast!”

“You want me to walk for five hours without eating anything?” Dave asked incredulously, “I’ll starve to death!” John rolled his eyes.

“It’s only five hours, Dave,” he said, “now c’mon! We’re going!”

Dave packed up, got up, got going and made it to Derse, grumbling to himself the whole way. John could hardly blame him, his stomach was gurgling and complaining just as much the whole trip. He still could have done without the complaining from Dave.

The way there was uneventful, and Derse loomed in the distance, huge and forboding. The two boys stopped a little way before the gate, drinking in the huge towers and fortified wall, the wrought iron gate that was taller than their church, wide open for anyone to travel through, and the smell of damp stone and cold metal and cigarette smoke that wafted up from the city.

“Wow,” John said under his breath. Dave, for the first time that day since waking up, was silent.

“Well,” he said, nudging Dave after a little while, “c’mon! Let’s get...y’know. Going. Breakfast, all that.” Dave was stock still, like a statue.

“It’s huge,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” John agreed breathlessly,

“I feel pretty fucking small right now,” he said quietly.

“I bet that doesn’t happen often,” John joked. He pushed Dave forward gently, “now come on! I’m starved!”

John walked through the city like a small child being introduced to the wonders of sugar for the first time. Everything was busy and wonderful, wonderful and busy. The streets were crowded and narrow, on all sides he was surrounded by the same dark stone that the outer walls were made of, stretching up and up into houses and apartments. He was two steps ahead of Dave, constantly spinning and turning, struggling to take in every last detail of the huge and strange city. Dave, by contrast, was walking as though in a daze, trying to take in as little of his surroundings as possible. They burst out onto the main street, to find a huge marketplace. John sped off, hoping that Dave wouldn’t lose track of him in the crowd. The smells of whatever food the various men and women were selling, the constant babble of the crowd around them. He wandered from stall to stall, the vegetable man, the cheese lady, the guy in the greasy apron selling meat. A baker with bread that John knew from just a glance hadn’t been given enough time to rise. A woman selling milk. A woman selling sweets. A man arguing with an old lady about the price of a pot.

“What’re you looking for, kid?” came a hoarse voice from behind him. He turned around to see a woman leaning on her little stall. Her hair was greying, and frizzy, and her clothes hung off her a little. Just behind it there was a whole roast pig, and several bread rolls.

“Well, what’re you selling?” he asked over the roar of the crowd, walking over to the little table she was leaning on. She smirked.

“Pork. Slow cooked, served hot on a bun,” she replied curtly. His stomach gave a rumbling growl.

“How much?” he asked, probably a little too quickly. She smiled widely, revealing her yellow teeth.

“Twelve silvers,” she replied. John felt his jaw drop.

“What?” he asked, his voice shrill.

“Twelve silvers,” she replied, “It’s a good price.”

“No way,” John said, shaking his head, “there’s no possible way this pig and bun could be worth _twelve_.”

“This pig,” she jerked her thumb at he pork behind her, “came from an little town a two day walk north of here. They have the best pork you’re gonna find this side of the river Prospit.” That struck a chord with John. There was no way she was being serious.

“What’s it called? The town?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Sburb,” she replied smoothly. John broke out into a wide grin.

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” she said sweetly, “and because you’re so adamant, and you’re obviously a traveller, I’ll give you my traveller’s discount, and give it to you for eleven silvers.” John mulled the idea over in his head. The only word that came to mind was _swindled, swindled, swindled._

“I’ll give you twelve,” he said, trying to ignore the grumbling in his stomach, “if you give me two.”

“Kid, I’m telling you,” she said, “the pigs from Sburb are expensive. I’m just trying to-”

“No they’re not,” he grinned, “because I’m from Sburb, and we don’t even have a butcher!”

The woman’s face fell. There was a thick silence between them. Her lips pulled up into a thin smile. She leaned back, shaking a finger at him.

“I like you,” she said eventually, “two for six apeice-” and she leaned in close, pulling John’s face close to hers, a vicious snarl contorting her face, “but you didn’t get it from me.” She let him go, turning to make up the sandwiches. John fished out twelve silvers and put them on the table.

“John!” Dave called out, a little distance away. John turned and waved him over. He struggled through the crowd, eventually coming to a rest beside John.

“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing at the woman bent over the pig.

“Getting breakfast!” John chirped. The woman came back with two bread rolls, piled high with the pork. They dug in, eating noisily.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Dave said, his voice thick around a mouthful of food, “this is a fucking good sandwich.”

“Best this side of the river Prospit,” the woman agreed, “so what are you boys doing here anyway?”

“Uh,” Dave started, swallowing, but John butted in.

“Adventuring,” he grinned.

“Drifting,” Dave corrected.

“Wandering,” John agreed, after a quick revision. It was too late. There was a sparkle in the woman’s eyes, as she looked at them as though they were gods.

“Adventurers,” she said under her breath, and then louder, “They’re adventurers!”

The whole marketplace stopped, and turned to the boys. Dave pushed John’s shoulder aggressively.

“Nice going,” he said, but it was lost.

“They’re here to save us!” a voice said, from far away.

“They’re here to slay the gorgon?” another voice asked.

“Please, sirs,” the pork lady was saying, grabbing their hands desperately, “there’s a gorgon who lives in the marketplace. She turns those who look at in her eyes to stone, we need you to get rid of it. Please, sirs, slay the gorgon.”

“Slay the gorgon!” someone yelled, nearby.

“Slay the gorgon!” someone else yelled. The crowd quickly picked up the chant, a single voice around them begging them, pleading for their help. Before they could stammer out an excuse, an apology, a quick “we’re only eighteen for christ’s sake”, they were lifted on the shoulders of the crowd and carried away into a gated area, dropped on their asses, and left to their own devices with the click of a lock.

The marketplace was covered from the sun, and dozens of abandoned stalls, large stones, and hyper-realistic statues littered the area. Dave turned to John, giving him a sharp shove.

“Why’d you say we were adventurers?” Dave asked, scowling.

“Right, because ‘drifting’ is a totally believable lie when you’ve got a huge sword!” John replied, shoving him back. Dave groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“We’re fucked. I’m fucked! I’m gonna fucking die!” he said, his desperate voice muffled in his hands. John opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by an ungodly screech, like nails down a chalkboard. John flung his arm out to fist his hand in the front of Dave’s tunic like a reflex, and Dave mirrored the movement. They stood there, eyes wide, frozen to the spot. It was only when the noise came again, much closer this time,  that they were startled into action, turning to each other and screaming in terrified unison one word:

“SHIT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr!  
> (therewerenorelevanturlsavailable.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3: Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slay the Gorgon! Slay the Gorgon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Summary: Dave is startled by people and hides behind John. 
> 
> Thanks once again to by darling Beta Plinkoid the Magnificent, for her huge effort with this fic. This chapter is about 9.5k words, and I'm sorry about the wait!
> 
> Also thanks to all the people who have commented nice things, kudos'd and bookmarked! Nice to know this isn't a total train wreck!  
> (By the way, this is officially my longest fic already. Settle in for a long one, kiddies).

“SHIT!”

Shedding their packs, the two boys scrambled left, away from the gate, dragging and pushing each other to take cover behind what was once a vegetable stall.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he said under his breath. He pulled the tinted goggles off his head and clutched them in one sweaty palm, hoping that this would help him think. His other hand was still firmly fisted in John’s tunic in an attempt to anchor the boy to him. He could feel his chest rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling sharply with each fevered and terrified breath. Dave turned to him, and saw how wide the other boy’s eyes were, how pale his face was, the sweat that flattened his fluffy hair to the top of his head with a shiny, greasy sort of look. Dave opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut again.

A slithering. A swaying, soughing sort of sound. Dragging, sliding, _slithering_ along the stone floor of the market place. It was difficult to place, but Dave guessed it was heading towards them. Towards them and their flimsy shield. Dave stopped breathing, and he felt John do the same next to him. He could hear his pulse in his ears, roaring and thumping so loud he knew that whatever it was behind him was going to hear it, hear it and he would end up dead.

The slithering stopped, right, directly behind them. Dave squeezed his eyes shut, because if he was going to die he didn’t want to see it coming and-

Something clattered a little distance away. The noise began to rapidly move away from them, and Dave cracked open one eye. John picked up another rock with his spare hand (he was still clutching the front of Dave’s shirt), and hurled it over their heads. It landed with a hollow sort of noise, and the slithering resumed. Moving away from them. Dave breathed again.

“We need a plan,” John whispered, so quietly that Dave barely caught it.

“To escape, or to kill it?’ Dave whispered back. John hesitated.

“If we want to escape, I think we hafta kill it.” Dave clicked his tongue.

“Damn.” There was a silence.

“You have a sword,” John pointed out, finally.

“So, what?” he asked, “just lop off her head?” John nodded frantically.

“If I distract her, you ought to be able to get a good chance at it,” he whispered.

“What?” Dave hissed, “Dude, you’re gonna end up like one of our decorative friends!” Here he gestured to what was once a knight or other such adventurer, clad in armor and frozen forever with his hand raised above his face in self-defense. Derse had apparently been trying to get rid of the Gorgon for a while.

“Look, it’s that or we BOTH die!” John hissed back, “besides, I just have to not look her in the eye!”

Before Dave could reply, there was the sound of splintering wood, and an enormous, scaly tale smashed down the middle of the stall. The boys screamed, loud and wordless, letting go of each other and scrambling away. Dave dove behind one of the cracking statues, leaning against it and listening for the horrible, chilling, terrifying slithering noise. It was moving away from him, he realized with a sigh of relief, at a brisk pace. It was moving _away_ from him.

It was moving away from _him_ , but towards _John_. His stomach dropped.

He looked down at the goggles in his hand, and hurled them as far away from him as he could. The slithering abruptly changed direction. He hugged the statue, shifting around it to try and get a look at John. He had taken refuge behind a large rock, pale, but was certainly flesh and bone. Their eyes met, John’s with an unsettling determination. Dave nodded, unsheathing his sword as quietly as he could manage.

John went sprinting out from his hiding place. Dave took a few heavy breaths, and stuck his head around the corner to see what the situation was like. John had just gone forward a little ways, hiding behind a different monument in the strange museum. The gorgon was, thankfully, turned away. Her pale, clammy, grey torso bent over a stall, searching for the intruders. Dave watched with an eerie fascination the way her muscular snake’s tail twitched and flicked, catching what little sun filtered through the holes in the tent covering the marketplace in its green scales. Her hair was matted and dull, greying at the roots but still a magnificent raven’s black at the edges. It seemed impossible that something this strange and wonderful could exist. Dave was stuck there, watching it, trapped in the sheer fascination of the way the creature’s skin graduated from flesh to scale. _It could have been beautiful_ , he thought, _in a weird sort of way, if it wasn’t trying to kill me._

Dave moved out from behind his statue stealthily, trying to make as little noise as possible. He moved closer, and closer, ducking behind a rotting wooden stall, advertising some cheap tobacco products. His breathing was heavy, labored, deep and long in an attempt to keep his hand steady. He stepped out, kicking a rock as he did so. The gorgon spun around, and it was only then that Dave caught the dull sheen of the claws on the ends of each of her fingers. He ducked back, but it was too late, she’d seen him, and was heading his way and oh god this was it, this was the end, and he could feel his breathing speed up when that nasally, beautiful, terrible voice cut through the tense air.

“HEY!” he roared, and Dave heard something clatter across the marketplace. The slithering stopped abruptly and changed direction. He heard John’s footsteps sprint across the market. Dave poked his head out, hoping she’d have her back to him, and struck lucky. She was too busy chasing John to pay much mind to him. He crept out of his hiding place. She smashed the statue John was hiding behind. He sped up, raising the sword to about chest height. John tried to scramble away but she’d cornered him. He sped up. He was practically running now but it was no good because she had John she had him in her dreadful claws and he was trying to struggle free but she was raising him to her eye level. Not fast enough. He opened his eyes, wide and horrified and begging Dave but it was too late he’d looked he’d looked _he’d looked_

Dave put one foot up on a small rock, launched himself into the air and clumsily swung the sword as hard as he could, aiming it vaguely at the bitch’s neck. He fell to the ground, landing hard on his side, and spun around. The head, raggedly torn away from the body, rolled to the ground. The rest of her fell like a rag doll, dropping John in the process. He rolled onto his back and lay there a while, breathing in gasping breaths.

“John?” he called out eventually, his voice breaking because he’d seen him die, he’d watched the Baker’s perfect, angelic son who’d just drawn a couple bad lots get turned to-

“I’m okay!” he called back. Dave sat upright, struggling to his feet, tripping over the thick tail and ending up on the ground next to John. He looked at him in amazement. The boy was fine. Fine. A little scraped up, and his glasses had a thin hairline crack in them, but he was breathing, and he was fine.

“How?” he asked, letting his eyes roam over the squishy (flesh and bone) body. John sat up, rubbing his back a little.

“I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head, “I looked right at-” he stopped suddenly, feeling his face.

“John?” Dave asked, worry beginning to pool in his stomach.

“My glasses,” he said faintly.

“Yeah, they’re a little broken. Are you sure you’re-”

“No, Dave,” he said, his face stretching into that stupid, bucktoothed grin, “my glasses! I was looking at her through my glasses! Not directly at her! That’s why I’m still alive!” This took a while to sink in, and Dave let himself laugh. He let himself laugh long, and hard, and genuine, slumping back over onto his back.

“John’s shitty vision saves the day!” he cheered eventually.

“I don’t know why you sound so surprised,” John laughed, “this isn’t the first time!” They lay there, side by side for a short while, reveling in the feeling of facing death and coming out alive.

Eventually they got to their feet, dusting each other off and checking themselves for injury. John had inherited a couple of scrapes from his fall, and the first few breaths of a bruise were developing on his sides, long and elegant and vaguely claw-shaped. Dave had landed badly on his arm, but after John inspected it briefly, he said that it was certainly not broken, and Dave should “stop being such a wimp”. Dave picked up his sword, wiping the thick, brownish blood off the blade with a scrap of cloth from one of the stalls.

“So now what?” John asked, cleaning his glasses a little.

“Dunno,” Dave replied, discovering with dismay that his goggles had been badly cracked in the fall. He sighed, sitting down on a nearby rock. John kicked the head a little, looking up at Dave. His eyes lit up with an idea, and he held out his hand for the goggles.

“Give ‘em,” he said. Dave listlessly tossed them at John.

“Why?” he asked, watching as John strapped the tinted glass to the head of the gorgon.

“Well, her eyes are still open,” John said, adjusting it a little, “people could still die if they look at her.” Dave raised his eyebrows.

“Smart,” he said. John beamed up at him, and Dave felt a quiet sort of stirring in his stomach. He loudly ignored it, choosing instead to go over and collect their bags from where they fell, holding John’s out to him.

“Hey!” someone yelled from the other side of the wall, “are you two still alive?”

“Yeah,” Dave and John called back. There was a pause.

“Did you slay the gorgon?” someone else called.

“Yeah.” There was a moment of total silence.

“When can we come out?” John asked. Quiet murmurs rose up from the other side of the wall.

“Proof!” someone yelled

“Prove the Gorgon is dead!” someone agreed.

“How do you expect us to do that from behind a fucking wall?” Dave asked, “shit’s impossible.” More quiet murmurs.

“Figure something out!” someone yelled. Dave rolled his eyes, and John tossed the decapitated head over the gate, and the two boys watched it pinwheel and tumble quietly through the air. They heard it land with a dull thud, and everything was, once again, dead silent.

 

Suddenly, with the roar of a thousand people, the other side of the wall erupted into noise. There was the clanging of a chain, the heavy drop of a lock, and the crowd surged forward. Lifting the boys up onto their shoulders, they were carried out of the market place and into the sunshine, surrounded on all sides by a cheering, whooping, hollering crowd.

A woman in ornate clothing was holding the head like it was the most precious gem she would ever see. She looked up at the boys, awe and wonder etched into every corner of her face.

“Who are you?” she breathed, barely audible. John, who was perched on the shoulders of some men a little ways to his left, spoke up before Dave got a chance.

“That’s Dave Strider, and I’m John Egbert,” he said, in his high, nasally voice.

“We’re adventurers,” Dave clarified.

“You boys are the slayers of the gorgon of Derse,” she said, a smile beginning to form on her face, “you’re not adventurers.”

“We’re not?” John asked, sharing a look with Dave. He just shrugged. She shook her head.

“No,” she said gently, and turned to the crowd, raising her voice above the babble of the crowd, “You’re heroes!”  The crowd latched onto the words, cheering ever so slightly louder.

“Strider! Egbert! Strider! Egbert!” they cheered, and Dave couldn’t help but grin, his chest feeling light and his head swimming with the crowd’s words.

Dave Strider the hero. That was a sentence he’d never thought he’d hear. Until yesterday he was some nobody orphan from nowhere. He was destined for nothing more than comfort and mild contentment. He would live and die in anonymity. But the chance had presented itself for Dave to become more. To become great. To finally prove to everyone that parents can only carry you so far. Dave Strider the _Hero_. It had a nice ring to it.

John reached across the gap and grabbed Dave’s hand, lifting it high in the air. The cheering only got louder.

* * *

 

They were paraded through the streets, accompanied by the chaotic yelling of one sentence layered over each other in a million different ways; ‘the gorgon of Derse has been killed’. The crowd grew steadily, and when Dave looked back he saw only people, only children raised on shoulders, only the awe-struck faces of an infinite number of humans looking at him.

They eventually came to a stop in front of an ornate building, at which point Dave and John were passed along the crowd, and their feet eventually touched the ground again on the marble steps before the huge, dark stone building. The woman carrying the head went up the stairs, gesturing for them to follow. They lumbered up after her, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs of the clean building, and Dave was acutely aware of the little spots of blood that covered his clothes. The woman gestured vaguely, and the huge crowd fell silent. _She must be the mayo_ r, Dave realized with a start, _and this is probably the city hall or something_. He’d only heard of authority figures like this in stories. Sburb was too small to constitute any sort of government. He felt like he should kneel or something, but decided that this would look dumb, especially because nobody else was doing so.

She was greying, and obviously stretched thin. Her forehead was etched with worry lines, deep and permanent, and the laughter lines that the elderly people in Sburb had around their mouths were faded. She had a thin face, a long nose, and eyes that had been sharpened by years of public service. Dave took half a step back and to the right, successfully putting John between him and the Mayor.

“Today, ladies and gentlemen,” she started, her voice loud and authoritative, “is a day to CELEBRATE!” On the word celebrate, she rose the head high in the air. Dave tried not to flinch at her sudden rise in volume. The crowd cheered for a long time. Dave imagined that their throats were probably getting sore by now. In the light, he began to notice things about the gorgon that he hadn’t from a distance, like the age spots and receding hairline. _She’s old_ , Dave realized with a jolt, _she_ was _old. I pretty much killed a defenseless old woman_.

“The bane of our city has been vanquished!” the mayor yelled over the rabble of the crowd, “For years we have watched our brothers and sisters, our sons and our daughters enter the marketplace and never return!”

 _So just stay out of the marketplace_ , Dave thought, but he kept it to himself.

“And,” the mayor continued, now that everything was a little calmer, “to show our thanks, these two fine young gentlemen will receive fifty gold pieces. Each.” John grabbed onto Dave’s sleeve, his eyes wide.

“ _Fifty_?” he mouthed, obviously stunned. Dave nodded, feeling a small smile reach his face. A good sword cost about twenty five gold pieces, fifty was more money he’d expected to see in one place in his life. But John sold bread for a couple coppers a piece, and fifty gold pieces was almost certainly more he’d expect to see in a year. The Mayor disappeared inside the building for a few moments, and reappeared with two small bags that clinked and changled as they moved.

“I only wish we could offer more,” she said, and Dave saw what he assumed to be a rare smile flash across her face. John just sputtered a little. Dave harshly elbowed him in the ribs and graciously accepted this (hugely valuable) gesture of gratitude. John did the same, smiling thinly

“To the heroes, Strider and Egbert!” she yelled out across the crowd again.

“Strider! Egbert! Strider! Egbert!” the crowd cheered again. They filed away after a while, returning to their abandoned posts at shops and stalls and wherever it was they had come from. Dave turned to John, who was just staring blankly at the purse in his hands. He looked up at Dave, flabbergasted.

“She wishes she could have given us more?”, he choked out. Dave snorted.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging at John’s elbow, “we ought to buy more food n’ shit.”

 

They wandered aimlessly through the towns, stopping frequently so that John could have long rambling conversations with whoever he passed. Everyone was, of course, eager to jump on the bandwagon as it were, and keep John trapped in a conversation for hours and hours and hours. They talked to Dave too, but he generally deflected the conversation back to John, who was both more willing to and better at talking. He’d just zone out, and only after he’d gotten impatient (and John had gotten some useless thing like preserves or a decorative wall hanging for free) that he’d tear him away and begin the process of buying various non perishables. Pretty soon, the boys had stocked your bags to the brim with dried meat, fruit, honey, and some weird flatbread that John swore wouldn’t go off for a while.

John had also managed to track down the glasses maker, a little old man in on the corner of two small alleyways. Dave had nervously followed him down the shady looking street, jumping at every little noise. He had no reason to be worried. After he’d killed the gorgon, everyone had worshipped them as gods. For someone to attack them would be blasphemy, or near enough to it.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Dave asked about fifty times.

“Yeah, mom,” John would reply, “the instructions were pretty simple.”

“Okay, but how do we know we’re not being led into certain death?” Dave would reply. John would just laugh.

“You need to learn to be more trusting, Dave,” he’d reply, grinning over his shoulder. Dave would, every time, feel his cheeks heat up.

“And you, Mr. We’re Adventurers, need to learn to be less trusting,” he’d grumble, but his lips would always quirk up into the ghost of a smile, betraying his less than disgruntled disposition. John would laugh, and they’d walk in silence until Dave asked if John was _sure_ he was sure he was going the right way.

After only fifteen minutes, the boys found their way to a little shop, marked only by a pair of iron spectacles hanging above the door.

“Wait here,” John said, grinning at him, “this’ll take like, five minutes.”

“Are you sure you need new glasses?” Dave asked, slumping his shoulders.

“Would you rather me be blind for the rest of the journey, Dave?” he asked, crossing his arms. Dave rolled his eyes.

“Just hurry up,” he huffed.

“We’re heroes, Dave!” John chirped, punching Dave playfully on the arm, “Nobody’s gonna hurt you.” John headed in, and Dave leaned on the wall next to the door, watching the people pass.

John was growing on him, quickly and quietly. The blind optimism that he used to find so frustrating was becoming endearing, and he had to admit that the kid had a knack for getting free stuff. They’d gotten discounts on just about everything they’d bought. At first, they’d offer a good deal to the boys, something like 30% off. Because neither Dave or John had ever taken much maths, they had no idea what this meant. Instead, John would talk for a while, and guess what whatever they were selling was worth. He’d always guess what they were selling it for was less than it was, and he’d say something along the lines of “because I like you” and offer them a price that was more than his guessed value, but much much lower than what they were offering. That, Dave admitted, was a useful skill.

Thankfully, nobody tried to talk to Dave as he kept watch over the dirty street, which was a blessing seeing how he would have had a heart attack without John there to keep the conversation running. He would have floundered and the conversation would have died. The only human contact were the two girls who passed by, whispering to each other and glancing nervously over at Dave. Dave, who was used to being looked at like he was a massive threat, just smiled thinly at them and waved a little. The girls burst into giggles, one pushed the other away with annoyance, and they carried on. Dave was left thoroughly confused. Were they making fun of him? No, because they would’ve blushed or been embarrassed or something. Not giggle and run off.

“You look kinda peeved,” John said suddenly, and he flinched a little. Damn. When did he show up? John had managed to get a pair that was exactly like his previous pair, and they sat prettily on his fat little bridge.

“Just thinking about your mom who you heartlessly abandoned,” he shrugged, “getting pissed off about it.” John laughed, and Dave felt relieved. The whole ‘dad’ incident had left him absolutely mortified, and it became apparent that the way John dealt with awkward situations was to make a joke out of it. Dave quickly followed suit.

“Seriously though, just these girls who looked at me and giggled,” he said, pointing vaguely to where they’d gone off, “I was trying to work out if they were making fun of me or what.”

“Y’know what that sounds like to me?” John said, nudging him a little.

“Me being paranoid?”

“Well, yes,’ he said, giving Dave a funny look, “but it sounds more like someone’s got a couple of secret admirers.” He waggled his eyebrows a little, and Dave rolled the idea around in his head.

It made him feel kind of uncomfortable, the idea that some random people could fall in love with him at the drop of a hat. What made him feel more uncomfortable was the fact that people could fall in love with him specifically. Growing up is always hard, and it’s only made harder when you’re treated like a burden by your brother, and treated like a nobody by your master. Dave had never felt like anything special. People don’t fall in love with stuff that isn’t special.

He brushed it off, not wanting John to see this sad, concerned, unsure side of him, and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Well, not surprising really,” he said cockily, “women are known to be totally vulnerable to the Strider Charm. You might want to take a step back, Eggs. Women are gonna be flying at me at by the seat of their soaking wet panties.”

“Oh, sure, because you’re so tough,” John said, rolling his eyes, “You jump at the smallest noise! Like a little bird or something!”

“I do not,” Dave scoffed. This, tragically, happened within the same few seconds that a nearby washing bucket tipped over and onto its side with a loud clang. Dave flinched, spinning around, his hand on the hilt of his sword. John was doubled over laughing, gasping something that sounded suspiciously like ‘holy shit’.

“Between the two of us, who has killed a monster today?” Dave asked, pushing John a little.

“Between the two of us, who volunteered to be live bait for said monster?” John replied sweetly, wiping away the tears that had been squeezed out of his laughing fit. Dave narrowed his eyes.

“Fair,” he huffed after a while.

“Anyway, I got you these,” John said once he’d finally calmed down, and handed Dave a pair of tinted glasses. Dave just stared blankly down at them.

“Y’know,” John said, beginning to fidget a little, “cause you said your eyes get real sensitive? And you lost your goggles to the gorgon head. I thought maybe these could...”

“Expensive?” Dave asked quietly. The idea that John had both remembered and then acted on his lie about his sensitive eyes made him feel a little weak.

“Pfft, no,” John said, and Dave could hear the smile in his voice, “free! For me, at least.” Dave still hadn’t moved, so John just rolled his eyes, grabbed Dave’s hand in his free hand, and pressed them into his palm.

“Yours, anyway,” he grinned. Dave looked them over, taking in the deep colour and squashed half-oval shape of the glasses. Weird, but cool, he decided. He slid them on his face, and instantly felt safer. Calmer.

The only real reason he’d brought the goggles with him in the first place was because he was scared of what people would think. The first time the town’s pastor looked at him, really looked and saw the ring of startling scarlet around his pupil, the pastor had deemed him the devil. What would strangers think?

But he didn’t have to worry now. John had given him a gift that wasn’t free, but rather priceless.

“How do I look?” he asked, smirking a little, “cool?”

“Like a huge dork,” John replied, grinning. Dave scoffed, punching John in the shoulder lightly, playfully.

“Are we outta here?” John asked, glancing around a little.

“Yeah,” Dave replied, retracing their steps to a main road, “we’re gone. Like dust in the wind. Like some mysterious shadows or some shit. Here one second, saving damsels in distress, gone the next, leaving nothing behind but stories and dead monsters.” They came to the main road, and managed to take all of five steps before a nearby inn keeper called out at them.

“Surely, you boys aren’t leaving?” he yelled from the doorway. Dave and John turned around, perfectly synchronized. Dave instinctively took half a step back and to the right, putting John subtly between him and the thin, rat-like man.

“Yeah,” John said apologetically, “big adventures, other cities to save, you understand.”

“Aw, come on now,” the man smiled, showing his startlingly white teeth, “The road going south is awfully dangerous this time of year. Especially late at night. We can’t just let our heroes run off into the wild blue yonder, can we?”

“We fought off a gorgon today, sir,” John laughed, “I think we can handle a couple of thieves on a road!”

“No, no, come along,” the innkeeper said, “When was the last time you boys had a wash? Nice bed? Hot meal?” John bit his lip, glancing over at the boy behind him.

“Be rude to refuse,” he said, shrugging. Dave growled a little, despite the fact that a nice soft bed for the night and a good hot meal sounded excellent. Something about the owner rubbed him the wrong way.

“How much for a night?” John asked, heading in. Dave reluctantly trailed behind him.

“That gorgon bitch killed my brother,” the owner replied, ducking into the warm, dark inn, “for you boys, it’s free.”

The beds were not quite as nice as had been advertised, but they were definitely a massive step-up from sleeping on the ground. Stuffed with hay, the mattresses were soft, but occasionally a stray strand would stick out through the fabric and poke you painfully in the back of the neck. Dave, however, couldn’t care less. Trusting the heavy locks on his door, he finally put down his pack in the corner of the room, and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Aside from the strands that stuck him in the face like small, blunt needles, he was comfortable and could feel himself dropping off into sleep, when-

_BANG BANG BANG_

“Dave!” came that horrible nasally voice from the other side of the door. Dave groaned into the mattress.

“Yeah?” he yelled, his voice muffled.

“DAVE!” John yelled again.

“WHAT?”

“Can you just...come to the door?” John huffed. Dave heaved himself off the bed and staggered his way over to the door, struggling for a while with the heavy wood.

“What?” Dave asked, doing nothing to mask his annoyance. John smiled thinly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I was, y’know, gonna ask if...” he trailed off, as if unsure of how to proceed.

“Out with it,” Dave replied wearily, already feeling exhausted. All the contact with other people, killing monsters, and spending most of the day in utter terror was beginning to take its toll on his body.

“Okay,” John said, the words falling out of him like sand from a slashed bag, “the owner guy basically invited me for drinks, but I said no, but then he was like ‘I’ll give you unlimited drinks for free’ and by then saying no anymore would have been rude, so I agreed, but I made up some stuff about dropping off my money in my room or something and I’ve never really drunk before, but Dad always said that the first time you get drunk you need to have someone you really trust with you so can you come with me please?” Dave just stared vacantly at him.

“You’ve...never drunk before,” Dave said slowly, as if for clarification. John crossed his arms, looking at some interesting spot on the wainscot. Dave let out the smallest little snort, his jaw falling open slightly.

“How did we even live in the same town? Are you sure you’re my age?” Dave asked, blinking. He’d gotten drunk for the first time on his fifteenth birthday, courtesy of The Smith. He claimed some bullshit about manliness.

“Shut up!” John snapped, looking embarrassed to hell, “would you just...y’know...come with?” Dave felt the smallest pang of guilt. Obviously, the whole thing was a sore spot for the kid. He couldn’t think why. He leant on the doorframe a little.

“Sure, I’ll play nanny to your virgin drunk ass. Shit’ll be like a classic bonding experience. You and me bro, let’s do it. We’re making it happen,” he said, trying to cover up his awkwardness. John looked relieved, grinning that stupid smile of his and actually making proper eye contact.

“Awesome! Thanks, Dave!” John grinned, tottering off down the stairs to the tavern. Dave snorted, carefully pocketing his key and following. There was one thing about the exchange that stuck with him, however. _You need to have someone you really trust with you. Someone you really trust. Trust._

__

John trusted him? The concept gave him a funny, warm feeling. He couldn’t claim that trust was something that came easily to him, and the concept had always seemed foreign and alien in his mind. John trusted people easily, so he didn’t think he should have been as shocked as he was. But John trusted Dave, totally and unquestionably, and that was more than Dave could say about himself.

He clomped down the stairs, and was greeted with the sight of an uncomfortably crowded tavern, with John at the front by the bar. He waved him over, and Dave shouldered his way awkwardly through the crowd to where John was sitting. The place buzzed quietly with the sound of people gathered, all talking to each other about everything and nothing, and an anticipation hung in the air. Dave got handed an enormous mug of whatever, and John grinned broadly at him.

“They’re waiting for you to make a speech,” he stage whispered. Dave’s stomach dropped.

“What?” he deadpanned. John laughed.

“Go on, they’re expecting you to make a toast,” he said, nudging Dave a little.

“Why can’t you do it?” Dave whined.

“Because I already made one,” John said, rolling his eyes. Dave grumbled, getting to his feet. Everyone shushed their neighbor, and the tavern was silent. Dave just cleared his throat a little.

“So I uh,” he started feeling the deep country accent of Sburb creeping into his voice, “It’s great to see y’all come out to uh, meet us here tonight. I won’t talk for long, ‘cause your drinks are probably getting flat”-here a quiet laughter bubbled up from the crowd- “But uh...Your town’s been real hospitable, and y’all are lovely people. So, thank you.” He raised his glass a little. The crowd cheered, all knocking back their drink. Dave sat back down, glancing over at a beaming John. Dave just raised his glass a little, taking a deep swig. John looked uncertainly down at his.

“C’mon, man,” Dave said, coughing a little. It wasn’t nice, but the warmth was already seeping through his throat and stomach, and was clearly pretty fucking alcoholic (though it had nothing on Sburb’s crap).

“It smells weird,” John complained lamely.

“Don’t be rude,” Dave said, more teasingly than not, “and it’s better not to think about it. Just sorta...swig.”

“Swig,” John repeated, uncertainly.

“On three, a’ight?” Dave said, finally getting exasperated, “ _onetwothree_.” Dave took a huge swig from his drink, and John followed suit, spluttering a little and coughing some of it up. Dave laughed a little.

“You okay?” he asked, laughing quietly. John nodded, wiping at the area around his mouth a little.

“It’s kinda nice?” he offered, readjusting his glasses.

“Careful now, we don’t want you becoming an alcoholic,” Dave joked, but added a quick, somewhat indignant “kidding.” after seeing John’s stricken face. John just wrinkled his nose and took another huge swig. _He’d better slow down,_ Dave thought to himself, _or he’ll pass out before the moon’s even risen._

__

John did not, in fact, slow down, and neither did Dave. One mug later they were much more amiable towards each other. Two mugs later and John was laughing loudly at everything. Three mugs in and they’d both lost most of their coherency, John mumbling something about the fisherman’s son whilst Dave mumbled something about shield-making over the top of that. By the fourth mug, John was dancing badly with a lot of rather pretty women, who Dave soon realized were prostitutes. He decided not to do anything, and watched with a weird sort of detachment as he stumbled and apologized, his flushed face even redder in the glow of the torches. The girls giggled, and Dave suddenly saw the appeal. The dorky, goober sort of look was definitely cute, without being sexy. And he was easy to talk to, constantly listening and looking out for the people around him. Dave had to admit, in the fuzzy haze of his drunken stupor, that John was cute.

Perhaps, however, too cute, because he then overheard them planning to take John back to the...pig and cow? Fucking christ what a horrible name for a brothel, Dave thought. If John hadn’t had a drink before, it was extremely unlikely he’d ever had a woman before. One new thing a day, Dave thought, and wobbled to his feet.

“‘ _Scuse_ me, ladies,” Dave said, drawing out the ‘ladies’ obnoxiously. He leaned mysteriously on the table, but his arm buckled underneath him and he accidentally smashed his face onto the wood. John laughed long and loud and annoying as Dave got to his feet again.

“May we help you?” one of them (Ginger? Blonde? Tough to tell in the light) asked, grinning sweetly.

“Nah, nah nah, nah, nah nah nah nah,” Dave said, standing unsteadily on his feet, “I’m just thinking that maybe this little rascal’s had an much too much t’drink. Just gonna put him to bed before he gets hurt.”

“But Daaaaaaaaaaavvvvvvveeeeeeee,” John whined, clearly not okay with this proposal, “it’s still _early_!”

“Don’t worry about your friend,” another girl said, her accent distinctly foreign, “We’ll take good care of him.” The girls giggled a little.

“Big day of adventuring tomorrow, Johnny my man,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the first girl, “gotta get up bright and early.”

John, incapable of any other argument, just repeated his earlier complaint of “But _Daaaaaaavveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_.”

“No buts, c’mon,” he said, pushing John gently towards the stairs. John stumbled, falling backwards into Dave, who promptly also fell backwards. Luckily, most everyone had gone home by this time, and nobody except the small group of prostitutes had to watch the town heroes fall over on their asses. Dave lumbered to his feet, hauling John heavily up and wrapping one arm securely around his waist. John laughed a little, apparently taking this as permission to become a complete fucking idiot, and let his legs go totally slack. Dave just dragged him, his legs trailing pathetically behind them, up the stairs and into his own room.

Dave dropped John onto the bed, lazily kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his shirt before collapsing on top of him. John giggled beneath him, the action jiggling him a little.

“Wha’s so fun,” Dave asked, tiredness returning to his every limb.

“I can see your _nipnops_ ,” John giggled, and the declaration only served to make him laugh more. Dave laughed quietly at the sheer absurdity of the statement, before managing to whip his mind into something slightly more rational. He lifted himself up on his elbows, glancing down at John. He pulled his glasses off, placing them gently on the floor beneath the bed. John did the same, struggling with the coordination. Dave had a question. What was the question?

“D’you want me to....on?” he asked, his mouth thick and sluggish around the words. He suddenly became hyperaware of the positioning of them both, and rolled back a little, falling off the bed. John laughed again, curling in on himself and shrieking out his horrible, contagious laugh. Dave just stuck his head up, frowning a little.

“I asked you,” he said, demanding an answer.

“Wha?” John asked, the corpse of a giggle at the end of his question.

“Tunic?”

“Oh yeah,” John said, as if suddenly realizing his own chest trapped behind a layer of clothing. He started to awkwardly pull it off, dropping it to the floor.

“No, John, do you want me to on?” he asked, pulling himself up and flopping on the bed. John just shrugged, shifting over on the bed a little. It was a small bed, and their chests were just a few centimeters apart. John seemed pretty nonplussed about this, and so Dave decided he wouldn’t dwell. He pulled the thick, scratchy blanket up over them, watching John lie there. _He could have died_ , he realized with a sickening jolt _, John had been just a few scant centimeters of glass away from death. And the other thing, the Gorgon, had been even less lucky_. A mixture of adrenaline and elation had stopped him from realizing it fully until now; he had been responsible for something’s death. He had made the conscious decision to end something’s life. The guilt began to wash over him now, amplified by his exhaustion and the stale ale sitting in his stomach. It swirled and eddied in the pit of his abdomen, expanding rapidly to seep into every part of his aching body. He had to get it out now, or else he might burst.

“Hey John?” Dave said finally, watching John’s eyes gently slide shut. John gave the smallest grunt in response.

“Do you like being a hero?” he asked quietly. John looked at him, eyebrows knitting together.

“I don’t know,” he answered eventually, “I mean...I guess it has good stuff.” A long silence sat between them.

“Is something...?” John asked, unable to find the right words. Dave shrugged, regretting going down this path suddenly.

“I’m just...” he trailed off, “the...she was old. And then I killed her, y’know? She died ‘cause of me.” Another long pause sat between them, as John fished for something to say. In the end, John just shuffled closer slowly, and awkwardly draped one of his arms around Dave, fingers brushing slightly across his shoulder blades. He almost protested, but found the simple gesture more comforting and comfortable than he would have thought was possible.

“‘S okay,” he mumbled, his eyes sliding shut again, “‘s okay.” Dave listened as John’s breathing slowed gently to a deep, breathy snore, hearing his internal gears winding down, down, down.

“Gnight John,” he mumbled, and dropped off gently to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning he was tragically awoken by the loud, harsh crowing of a rooster right outside the bedroom window. He cracked open his eyes with a gargantuan effort, and regretted it instantly as the bright light drilled into his retina. Dave groaned, attempting to roll over but finding the task more difficult than it should’ve been.

He looked down to find John cuddled up to him, his arms sloppily wrapped tight around his shoulders, and his thighs wrapped tightly around his hips. His head was just tipped back against the pillows, twisted in an uncomfortable way. Dave, who usually twisted his body into some unholy position whilst he slept, had both his arms above John’s head, the hairs of his crown just tickling his forearms. Dave snorted. Unbelievable. He then remembered that they were both shirtless, and his attempts to struggle free redoubled in intensity. John’s brow furrowed into a frown, and he rolled over a little, giving Dave the window he needed to roll awkwardly off the bed and land with a thud on the cold floor. The light wasn’t helping his horrible headache, so he grabbed the shades from under the bed and roughly shoved them onto his face. That was better. Ish.

He stood up, feeling just about every muscle complain, and pulled a tunic over his pounding head. He pulled his shoes on and staggered downstairs, hoping for a free breakfast or something. The innkeeper looked up at Dave with amusement.

“Hangover?” he asked, going back to just wiping the bar. Dave nodded, letting himself collapse onto a chair.

“You serving breakfast?” he asked, rubbing his face a little. The innkeeper just shook his head.

“All we have is Derse’s famous hangover cure,” he said with a shrug. Dave looked at him funny. The innkeeper disappeared behind the bar, only to return with a mug filled with some kind of drink. He handed it to Dave, who watched it sluggishly move around the mug. Without thinking, he took an enormous gulp, and had to stop himself from spitting it right back out. He slammed the mug on the bar, coughing a little as it slid its way down his throat. The innkeeper laughed a little, leaning on the bar.

“That’s vile,” he coughed, staring accusingly at the innkeeper. It was lost behind the tinted shades.

“That’s Derse,” he responded. Dave couldn’t deny, however, that his raging headache was a little better, and he felt a little more alert. The innkeeper was still smiling knowingly at him. Dave narrowed his eyes.

“What’re you smiling about?” he asked uncertainly. The innkeeper put his hands up in surrender, leaning off the bar a little.

“That tunic doesn’t fit you is all,” he said, returning to the kitchen. Dave looked down, and noticed he’d accidentally pulled on John’s top.

“Ah shit,” he mumbled to himself. Checking to make sure that the innkeeper was safely out of his line of sight, he grabbed the drink and headed back up the stairs.

As he was pulling off John’s extremely small tunic, and trying his hardest not to rip anything, John sat up in bed, blinking blearily about the room.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Dave grunted as he pulled off the shirt, throwing it to the floor.

“Uuurrrrgghhhhh,” John managed, flopping back onto the bed, “I have the worst headache.”

“That’s your body telling you not to drink that much shit again,” Dave replied, “shit’s like a primal response your body has when you drink crap like that in huge quantities. Your brain’s all like, ‘Oh and by the way, you drank shit loads of poison, you dumb fuck’.” John let out a weak little laugh, before stopping abruptly and sitting back up.

“Are you shirtless?” he asked, eyes wide. Dave shrugged.

“You didn’t seem to mind last night,” he replied, hoping John wouldn’t pick up on the mildly suggestive wording. His hopes were in vain, as John’s eyes widened in a mixture of embarrassment and fear.

“I’m shirtless too, oh my god, Dave I’m _so_ sorry,” he said, burrying his head in his hands, “I knew this would happen! Argh, I’m so stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Woah,” Dave said, sitting cautiously on the bed, “calm down.”

“Did I do anything really bad?” John blurted out, still refusing to look at Dave, “I didn’t mean any of it!”

“You didn’t do anything except laugh at the word ‘nipnops’,” Dave shrugged, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. John seemed to relax a little at that.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice quiet. He peered up from behind one of his hands.

“Positive,” Dave replied, smirking, “What did you think you’d done?” He was hoping to inject some much needed levity into the situation, but only served to make John more flustered.

“Well...you know!” he said, his face going a little pink, “you wake up shirtless in someone else’s bed, and the someone else is also shirtless...” He trailed off. Dave took a little while to put the pieces together.

“Ew, what the fuck?” Dave said, recoiling a little, “Dude, we’re both boys. How would that even happen?”

“I dunno! It might’ve, though!”

“Look, John,” Dave said, running a hand down his face, “People don’t just turn...gay after one night of drinking.”

“I know that!” John snapped indignantly.

“So what was the issue? Sure, when a girl and a guy get drunk, _maybe_ they fuck, but neither of us were gonna do that, because neither of us are into guys!” There was a long, awkward silence as John avoided his gaze, head hung. Why was he acting all guilty now? It didn’t make any sense. It suddenly came crashing down on Dave like a thunderstorm breaking.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” John said, his voice a mere breath. There was another long silence.

“Do you wanna...stop?” John asked, looking reluctantly up at him, “I could just give you my half of the map and go home.”

“What?” Dave asked, still a little shellshocked, “why would I...” John squirmed a little. Dave let out an enormous sigh, leaning back a little and tilting his head up to the ceiling. He shut his eyes. The whole thing was breaking his heart a little.

“John,” he murmured, “I don’t give a _shit_ , okay?”

“W-what?” John asked, his voice small.

“I couldn’t care less that you like dudes. I mean, honestly, what does it matter?” Dave replied. This was mostly true. John was a cool kid, and funny and kind and all that shit. What happened behind closed doors was really nothing for Dave to care about. It was still shocking, and Dave was going to struggle to get used to the whole idea of John being gay. It was more a misconception type thing, like with his dad. Only this time, much much more personal. Walking on eggshells.

“Really?” John asked, and Dave had to look then. His stomach dropped a little when he saw the first few signs of tears appearing in John’s eyes.

“ _Shit_ , man, don’t cry,” he said, awkwardly pushing his palm into John’s face for a lack of anything better to do, “c’mon, you’re a super macho adventurer. We don’t cry.” John laughed a little, sniffling ever so slightly.

“Thanks, Dave,” he said, that stupid, sincere grin back on his face.

“No problem,” Dave replied, smiling thinly himself, “now here, try this.” Removing his hand, he held out Derse’s famous hangover cure. John took it hesitantly, sipped it slightly, and spat it back into the cup.

“Ew!” he cried, sticking out his tongue, “what the fuck _is_ this?”

“Hangover cure,” Dave shrugged, “now drink up. Don’t be rude.”

* * *

 

They packed up and left the inn as quietly as they could, leaving with a quiet thank you directed at the innkeeper. By now, everyone was at work, and the two boys left without fanfare. It was odd, Dave thought, that they had become heroes. In this city, they would probably ascend to legends, and then fade to myths, the two boys who came and liberated a whole city from the tyranny of an elderly monster. But now, leaving that strange city behind them, they were nothing but strangers again. Drifting travelers looking for food and comfort and warmth and safety and god knows what else. A new slate, a clean start.

The road that led north to the forest they were going to was wider than the first road, and better paved. It was a smooth cobble road, and had much more traffic than the first. This only really meant a donkey and cart or a small group of travelers every now and then, but it was enough to make Dave nervous. They would smile, or nod, or wave, and Dave would instinctively put a hand on his sword whilst John waved cheerfully.

The trip was uneventful, and Dave filled the silence with random anecdotes about working with the Smith whilst John laughed.

“So he just...” John asked, looking up at Dave in disbelief. Dave nodded solemnly.

“Picked him up and carried him to the gates,” Dave said, “and told him not to come back. I swear to god, that man is terrifying.”

“Oh, man, that sounds like something that happened in the bakery once!” John laughed. He looked like he was about to begin a story, but stopped dead in his tracks. Dave felt worry build up in his chest.

“Something up?” he asked, turning to him. John shook his head, looking around.

“I just...I just get the feeling we’re meant to go into the woods here,” he said, holding his hand out, “hand me your half.” Dave handed him the map, watched as he slid the pieces together, and tried to make sense.

“We are...here,” Dave said, pointing to a spot, “so we’ve got a little ways to go.”

“No, no we’re _here_ ,” John said, “see that pile of rocks? That’s that.” He pointed to a large, seemingly random pile of rocks a little distance into the woods. Dave hadn’t noticed them, and he guessed that he;d been too involved in telling the story to look around.

“Huh,” Dave said with a shrug, “lead the way, I guess.”

And lead the way he did. Dave hung back a little, hoping that by sending John ahead the spiderwebs would catch John and not Dave. John was, unfortunately, significantly shorter than him, and he still got the occasional spiderweb to the face. They tramped through the undergrowth, sidestepping large bushes of brambles and thorns.

“Do you have any idea if we’re even going the right way?” Dave asked finally, “we’ve been going for like, fifteen fucking minutes. My legs are covered in scratches and shit.”

“Just trust me, okay?” John replied, exasperated. No sooner had he said those words than the boys burst into a perfectly square clearing. The grass was softer here, and darker. On each of the four corners, there was a tree so tall that Dave only saw their enormous trunks before they disappeared above the foliage. Light flickered through the spindly pine needles, scattering like straw on the ground. On the opposite end of the clearing sat the cave, short and stout. John and Dave shared a look.

“Easy,” Dave muttered. John nodded.

“ _Too_ easy.” Dave drew his sword. John moved marginally closer to Dave.

Cautiously, the boys approached the cave, glancing around at the shifting shadows in the forest beyond. They reached the mouth of the cave only to discover that it was blocked by an enormous steel door with an inscription. John leant closer and read it aloud.

_“To remove the steel that bars your way_

_First, a fee you have to pay_

_Three things more precious than silver or gold;_

_A sword to a shadow eternally bound_

_A scale from what never touched the ground_

_A potion stolen from the gravedigger’s mound._

_Bring them to me at the brink of day_

_The steel will part to reveal the way_

_And you will be richer than the stories have told._

_But first, three things more precious than gold.”_

__

Dave groaned.

“Bullshit,” he huffed, “what the fuck? I thought this was the end of the quest.”

“Well,” John said nudging the glasses back up his nose, “McMahon did say the key was split up into 3 things. So I guess these are the 3 things!”

“What does that even mean?” Dave griped, plonking himself down on the ground, “ _A sword to a shadow eternally bound?_ What the fuck does that even?” John let out a little ‘oh’, and started looking at the map again. He sat down next to dave, holding the two pieces of the map out for his inspection.

“See this little doodle of the guy with the sword?” he said, pointing it out. Dave nodded, oblivious.

“That’s probably where the sword is,” John said, grinning a little. His face fell though, and his eyebrows knitted together, “Dunno what the scale thing. I mean, snakes are literally always on the ground. Fish maybe?”

“Nah man, fish like brush against the banks of rivers n’ shit. No way is it a fish,” Dave said, digging up a clump of earth absently.

“So what then?”

“I dunno man,” Dave shrugged, looking up and around, “My brother told me this story about an ancient dragon that had so much gold it never walked on the ground, but that’s probably bullshit.” They sat in silence a little while longer.

“Fire!” John yelled finally, and Dave flinched, looking frantically around. Unfortunately, John was not referring to imminent death, but rather another fucking doodle on the map. He pointed to a mountain range a little way aways from where they were, which was accompanied by a small doodle of a fire. John’s face was a broad grin as he looked up at the other boy.

“Dude, it must be there!” he said, his eyes bright. Dave sighed a little. He wasn’t necessarily happy about the prospect of further adventure, but if it was for the sake of untold riches, he decided he could get hyped about it.

“Okay, so what about the last thing?” he asked, looking at the map.

“I dunno,” John said with a shrug, “but I’d say we’ve got a pretty good starting platform!” Dave nodded.

He stood up, dusting down the seat of his pants.

“So naturally,” he said, “the most efficient way of doing this is I go look for the sword, because the route’s on my half of the map, and you go look for the dragon because that route’s on your half of the map.”

“Then we meet back here and work out where the potion is,” John agreed. He stood up, handing Dave his half of the map. He took it after the smallest hesitation, and stood there just staring at him. The idea of going off into the wild blue yonder was suddenly terrifying, and he realized how glad he’d been in the last few days for John’s presence. But John seemed okay with splitting up, so who was he to argue any different.

“I’m back this way,” he said lamely gesturing to where they’d come from.

“And I’m off...this way,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction. Dave nodded, and a silence sat between them.

“See you in a few weeks, I guess,” he said, forcing a smile. John smiled thinly back, and in unison the boys turned on their heels and marched off in the opposite direction. Dave felt hollow, empty and hollow and kind of miserable, the empty space next to him screaming loudly to be occupied by someone, anyone.

No, he realized. Not anyone.

It was a distinctly John-shaped gap.

Dave turned on his heel again, calling out at John who was just on the other side of the clearing.

“We _did_ make a pretty good team, though,” he said, trying to act cool. John turned and grinned, nodding his head vigorously.

“We really did,” he said. A silence sat between them, and John took half a step towards Dave, “It’d be kinda sucky if we got into a situation like that on our own!”

“And I mean,” Dave said, taking a step towards John, “you’re definitely better at dealing with crowds and shit.”

“Plus that huge sword would be useful!” John agreed, grinning.

“Maybe we should just...” Dave said, trailing off.

“Stick together?” John offered. Dave nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Sounds good!” John chirped, and skipped over to his side. Dave snorted at him, and the way he looked endearingly up at the much taller boy.

“C’mon,” he said, thumping John on the back, “we’ve got a sword to find.”


	4. Chapter 4: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this has taken FOREVER, and I'm blaming that 100% on school. So, from now on, expect updates around October, December, Febuary (ish), April, and then June/July.  
> My Beta is also swamped atm, so I'm not 100% sure about the quality of this chapter.  
> However, without further adue, onto the fic!

John’s happiness at having his travelling companion back by his side waned into annoyance within the first five minutes of agreeing to stay together.

“Look,” John said, pointing out his proposed route, “It’s just safer and _quicker_ if we follow the main road, like _literally everyone else._ “

“Yeah, everyone else, _including_ muggers, and thieves, and murderers, and crazy old people who want to eat your fucking liver or whatever. Remember what the innkeeper said? _Especially_ dangerous this time of year,” Dave replied, snatching the map out of John’s hands, “which is why it’s actually _safer_ to go through _this_ forest, and then across _this_ river, and then through this swamp and bam. We’re in the city in one piece, like some sort of invulnerable heroes or some shit.” 

“Right, because it’s safer to go through,” John squinted down at the map, “The Forest of Death? This river, the one you’re proposing to ford, has no bridge, is several miles across, and is called ‘The Fisherman Drowner’!” 

“Probably just to scare away superstitious travellers,” Dave said dismissively. 

“Well, it’s working!” John squeaked, “I’m not going near anything called ‘The Fear Swamp’.” 

“Okay, okay,” Dave said, “There’s one way to settle this.” 

“Scissors, paper, stone?” John suggested. 

“What? No, dude, we’re not five.” Dave replied indignantly. 

“Then what?”  
“We’ll do both. We’ll spend a little while in the Forest of Death, and if stuff gets too bad to continue, we just use the main road,” Dave said, turning to go. John turned the idea over in his head, something about the extremely definitive way Dave had taken charge bothering him. 

“I think it’d be better if we used the road first,” he offered, catching up to him. 

“What? Dude, mur-“ 

“Look, if we get lost in the Forest of Death, then we’re lost in the forest of Death. But we’re not gonna get lost on the main road, and can duck into the forest whenever,” he said, moving to stand in front of Dave. Dave wrinkled his nose a little, clearly about to formulate an argument. 

“You know I’m right,” John said sharply. 

 

This was a total bluff. John was not, necessarily, right. But neither was Dave. Both plans had their positives, and their negatives. They were pretty much equal in terms of danger. John just wanted to feel like he was in charge, for once. After the business at the tavern, and after the way Dave had cooly accepted a whopping sum of money like it was nothing, John felt like he was shrinking into sidekick status, or that Dave was pushing him there. 

 

Dave stared at him a while, before ultimately caving. 

“Alright, but if we get stabbed by some guy screaming about our livers or some shit, I’m gonna blame you so hard,” he grumbled, pushing past John. 

“Fair,”John laughed, catching up to him, “And what’s with the recurring character of a crazed old man eating your liver?”

“I dunno, because that’s just what happens on the main roads between cities?” Dave said. His voice was harsh, but John recognised the tell-tale signs of mock-severity. His lips were curved ever so slightly upwards, and there was the slight crinkling on the outsides of his eyes that John could _just_ make out from his point of view. 

“Whatever you say, Mr. Strider,” John replied, rolling his eyes. 

 

The journey by the main road should take them, by John’s calculation, about four days of walking. By Dave’s, it would take an eternity because they’d be killed the second they stepped onto the road. They’d make camp a little ways away each night, hiding somewhere in the forrest that ran adjacent, walking all day, and then finally reaching the city just before nightfall on the fifth evening. The road was pretty crowded, with convoys and huge parties, all walking politely along in relative silence. Muffled conversations could be heard among the sound of hooves and wheels and feet clopping along the cobblestone path. It branched off towards smaller towns, but John and Dave mutually agreed that it was for the best that they avoided them, half because they were on the clock, and half because they had a feeling they’d be roped into killing another monster, or slaying some beast, or whatever. 

“The plan is _flawless,”_ John said, hiking his pack a little higher on his back. 

“Yeah,” Dave said, “if we don’t die first.” John snorted. 

“You’re such a _pessimist,_ Dave, lighten up! We’re gonna be rich!” John chirped, grinning up at him. 

“Keep that under your hat, wouldja?” Dave hissed, jerking his head towards some lonely travellers along the road, “talk like that gets people-“

“Killed, yeah yeah,” John said, giving the party of young girls and an elderly man a cheerful wave, “they _really_ look dangerous.” 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Dave said defensively, but it was obvious he didn’t particularly believe the girls to be especially threatening. 

“I wonder where they’re going,” John said, tilting his head thoughtfully. 

“Home, probably,” Dave said, “maybe they were, like, presented at court before the king.” 

“Or maybe they’re being kidnapped!” John said, grinning. 

“Maybe they’re kidnapping the old guy,” Dave suggested. John laughed. 

“Maybe they’re going to visit the old guy’s wife?”

“Maybe they’re going to get married to the old guy’s grandkids.”

“Maybe they ARE the old guy’s grandkids.” 

“How about both?” Dave suggested, shrugging. 

“Ew! Dave!” John yelled, laughing. 

“What?” Dave said, his mouth quirking up into a half-smile, “Out here it’s rural as hell, John.” 

“We come from a rural town!” 

“Yeah, and guys were marrying their cousins and everything.”

“Shut up,” John giggled, bumping Dave’s shoulder. 

 

They continued on in silence, Dave grumbling occasionally when another group of travellers got too close, and John reassuring him that it wasn’t a problem and he was being ridiculous. John looked up at the dark clouds gathering in the sky; huge and threatening. 

“Looks like a storm,” he said, to nobody in particular. 

“Aye, and a big one too,” a large woman walking a few paces ahead of them said, “We’re looking for refuge in the next town, and I’d advise y’boys t’do the same.” 

“We’re fine,” Dave growled, his hand floating over to where his sword hung. 

“Thanks for the offer though!” John chirped, slapping Dave’s hand away. The woman shrugged, and turned off the road. 

“Dave, you _can’t_ just stab everyone who talks to us!” John said indignantly, “how do you expect to make friends that way?” 

“By _not dying,”_ he grumbled. John rolled his eyes, and they continued. The number of people on the road slowly dwindled, until only grumpy old men sitting on carts with thick cloaks around their shoulders remained. John and Dave stopped briefly to put on some protection against the predicted downpour, and no sooner had they picked up their packs and resumed walking than a flash of lighting cut through the sky, a clap of thunder soon followed, and rain came bucketing down, soaking the two boys through. John knew better than to try and protect himself from this, and deciding it would be extremely suspicious if he remained nice and dry whilst everything else got washed out, turned off what little control he had over water, and got well and truly soaked.

“Damn. It’s really coming down,” Dave said calmly. 

“Yeah,” John agreed, “I hope it, like, lets up soon. It’s pretty miserable going.” 

 

It didn’t, but instead kept raining like someone was trying to drown out all of creation. John slowed his pace to a crawl, grumbling disconcertedly about how cold it was, and how much his feet hurt, and how badly this adventure sucked. Dave seemed extremely unperturbed by the rain, and was amazingly silent. John put this down to the fact that there were so few people on the road by now, that there was no point in complaining about old men eating his liver. The ground was damp now, and muddy as hell. Worms, slugs, and snails had dragged themselves out to enjoy the misery.

“Hey look,” Dave said, pointing out a particularly large snail on the ground, “those things are out.” John frowned a little. 

“Things?” he asked, glancing up at Dave. 

“Yeah, those crawling things. With the shells,” he said, pointing more aggressively at the snail. John looked from the snail to Dave, trying to work out if Dave was fucking with him. 

“You mean the snail?” he asked uncertainly. He saw Dave’s eyes narrow behind the shades.

“ _That’s_ what snails are?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised. John felt a grin bloom onto his face. 

“Wait, what do you mean ‘that’s what snails are’?” he said disbelievingly, “have you…never seen a snail before?” 

“Of course I’ve seen them before,” Dave grumbled, his face going red, “I’m not fucking blind.” 

“So what’s the confusion about?” 

“I didn’t know what they were _called,”_ Dave said to the ground. 

“You’re shitting me,” John giggled. There was a long, expectant pause.

“I just thought that, y’know, there are a fuck tonne of different kinds of beetles…” Dave mumbled eventually. John started giggling, quietly to himself. 

“C’mon, man,” Dave said, his face the shade of a tomato, “It’s not that funny.” 

“You thought _snails_ were _beetles?”_ John asked breathlessly, his giggles escalating into howling laughter. Dave just picked up the pace, whilst John bent double on the side of the road, taking a little while to compose himself. He jogged to catch up to Dave, who was still looking thoroughly embarrassed. 

“It’s not that funny,” he agreed, wiping the laughter tears out from under his glasses. 

“No, it’s not,” Dave said stiffly. They went on in silence. 

“Beetles?” John said after a short while.

“Fuck off,” Dave snapped. John put his hands up in surrender. They went on in silence.

“Hey, Dave, check it out!” John said pointing to another snail on the side of the road, “What a weird beetle!” 

“You motherfucking-“ Dave made to deck John, but he ducked, running ahead and laughing to himself. 

“Get back here,” he called out, chasing after John, the ghost of a smile sitting on his lips. John sprinted on, laughing harder.

 

The summer storm didn’t let up until much later, the clouds clearing just in time for the boys to catch a glimpse of the sunset. The clouds, stretched thin over the sky, were dyed a pale purple by the dusk sky, which faded gently into a brilliant orange. Behind them, the first set of stars were squirming their way into sight, the sky already fading into night. The boys stopped for a while, watching the sun sink steadily below the horizon, until they were standing in the cool twilight air. Wordlessly, they slunk away into the damp forest, accepted that they would be damp for the night and damp in the morning, and slipped into the sleep of the traveller. John’s nightmares were blessedly muted and vague, and when he awoke, he remembered little else than the phrase ‘ten feet tall, and made of smoke’. 

 

* * *

 

The second day began miserably. It rained for the whole of the morning, and John was nearly tempted to duck into a small village to get a chance to dry off their clothes and maybe sleep a while in something that _wasn’t_ a puddle of mud, but it stopped suddenly around midday, and the day quickly grew awfully hot. The day was terrible and humid, the steam from the boy’s clothes mixing with the steam coming from the puddles and crops of wet grass. After a few minutes, John was sweating like a sinner in a church. After about an hour, both boys stank to high hell of sweat. It was tempting to take off their shirts and continue on in slightly more appropriate clothing, but in the interest of protecting the innocence of the young women who walked along the road. This gallant decision was not, however, without consequence. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Dave panted, “what the fuck is wrong with the weather?” 

“Dunno,” John asked, “I kind of wish it would rain again.” John tried, and failed, to restrain himself, and added “maybe we’d see more of those weird beetles.” 

“You’re fucking lucky I’m already sweaty and tired,” Dave said, “or else I’d be stringing you up from a tree and flaying you alive, like some sort of…” he trailed off, the weather apparently having robbed Dave of the ability to string together long sentences. They managed to make it to the early afternoon before the general decision of ‘fuck the young women’s innocence’ was made, and the boys shed their cloaks, their coats, and their tunics. John was a squishy kid, with a soft belly and round pecks. He tried to ignore the giggles that girls shot their way, before he realised they were laughing more out of embarrassment than anything. It was only then that he noticed just how muscular Dave actually was. Sure, he was build largely, with broad shoulders and long legs, but years of hammering metal had given him distinct biceps and strong shoulder muscles, if skinny little legs. John tried, and failed, to convince himself that his admiration was purely professional. 

 

It was becoming more and more obvious to John that he couldn’t keep pretending to just want Dave as a friend. Dave was a nice person, and John was certainly glad of his friendship, but slowly he’d been noticing the overwhelming urge to get up in the middle of the night and relocate closer, and closer, and closer still to the Blacksmith’s apprentice. He’d been noticing the weirdest little details, like the slope of his shoulders to his neck, and the slight blonde stubble on his chin. No matter how often he tried to stomp out the desires, how desperately he reminded himself that Dave and he were friends, and always would be friends, and nothing more than friends, some small, hopeful, unhelpful voice in the back of his mind was insisting that there was still a chance, still a chance, still a-

 

“You want something, John?” Dave asked, a smile in his voice. John was jolted out of his monologuing. 

“No,” he said, his voice certainly a few octaves too high. 

“I think you do,” Dave replied calmly. 

“Yeah?” John asked, trying to put on his best ‘uncertain’ face. 

“Yeah,” Dave said, rolling his neck, “I think you want some tickets.” 

“To what?” John asked, totally confused. 

“The gun show,” Dave said, obnoxiously flexing his biceps. John rolled his eyes, lamely slapping Dave on the shoulder. Yeah. He was definitely okay with just being friends. 

 

The sun set, and the boys once again ducked into the forest. They managed to find an overhanging rock, and built a small fire a little distance away from where they lay down their mats. The night was warm, and the fire was mostly for light, and for drying off their disgustingly damp clothes. They slept shirtless, lying without blankets and watching the stars twinkle in the dark sky.

“I wonder how stuff’s going in Sburb,” John muttered. 

“Probably same as usual,” Dave grumbled. The unspoken sat between them; after the terror and the excitement had been eroded away by time, the first wave of true homesickness had sunk in. John missed his ovens, and the smell of yeast, and the same three faces every day. He missed the cheerful chatter outside the window, and was even beginning to miss the shame and guilt that bloomed over the fisherman son’s face every time they made eye contact. He had no idea if Dave felt the same, if he missed anything about Sburb, or if he was one of those people who let go and never looked back. 

“Do you miss home?” he asked suddenly. Dave glanced over at John, and paused, mulling the idea over in his head. 

“Sorta,” he decided eventually, and left it at that. John opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a gurgling growl, which was accompanied by a rustling close by. His eyes widened, and he scrambled into a sitting position, putting himself directly behind Dave, who’d already drawn his sword. 

“John?” Dave asked, his voice low. 

“Shh,” John hissed. Forest of Death. They were, quite literally, in the Forest of Death. His heart pounded against his ribcage. The growl came again, louder this time, and closer. 

“John,” Dave repeated, slightly more urgently. 

“Just shuddup!” 

 

Suddenly, from out of the undergrowth, a huge, scaly beast came plodding along their line of sight. John flattened himself against the rock, gently pulling Dave back with him. The Thing was unlike anything he’d seen before, with five legs and a strange, stiff neck frill, which looked like the mane on the lions he’d used to draw. It had horns sticking up along its spine, and a short curved tail. He couldn’t make out whether or not the Thing had eyes. It passed right by them, honing in on the fire. It opened its mouth to reveal two sets of long, curved fangs, and snapped down, literally eating the burning branches. John watched in fascination, still clutching Dave’s arm tightly, reassuringly. Dave’s knuckled were white on his sword. The thing, apparently finished its meal, poked out its long, slimy black tongue, and licked around its mouth, leaving black residue behind. And off it plodded again, wandering back into the underbrush. 

 

John slowly uncurled his fingers from around Dave’s arm, and Dave slowly relinquished his hold on the sword. 

“John?” he said after a long silence. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m really, really glad you talked me out of staying five nights in the forest,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically small. John let out a breathy laugh, patting Dave on the shoulder. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, “we might still get attacked by an old man looking to eat our liver.” 

“What the fuck was that?” Dave asked, looking over at him

“No clue,” John replied, smirking a little, “maybe some kind of weird beetle?”

 

Neither of them slept that night. 

 

* * *

 

The following day was spent in a strange sort of silent haze. They plodded along the path without really being there, still half asleep. John had to nudge Dave awake every time they stopped for a quick meal, and Dave ended up dragging John for a portion of the road. 

 

By the end of the day, they wandered a little ways off the road, to set up camp on what was effectively the river bank. 

“I feel like this is going to end badly,” John said, the syllables blending together. 

“Wurerr,” Dave responded, slumping onto his back. The evening was surprisingly cool. John started a fire, Dave was too tired to notice how he managed it, and they both collapsed into sleep, curled around the crackling fire, too tired to worry about five-legged scaly monsters. 

 

_“john…re in there pl…ten f..smoke? …it, john. dont m…ing y…”_

_whos…?_

_…?_

_…talking about?_

_…ngers…something’s wrong…_

_it’s too…_

_…taste burni…_

_is that…_

_…o that?_

_did i d…_

_…rol it i ca…_

_…rr…_

_…sorry_

_…sorry im-_

_john_

_John_

_JOHN_

 

“John?” 

 

He sat bolt upright on his mat, the sweat stinging his eyes and plastering his hair to his head. He looked around frantically, trying to work out why he was so scared, why was he so nervous, _why was he crying?_ Nothing. Silence. A gap where a traumatising memory should have been. The sound of a fire crackling, and crickets in the distant, chilly night. Nothing. He was fine. He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them. He was fine. 

“John?” Dave’s voice, thick with sleep cut through the night. John could hear the concern. 

“‘M fine,” John called out, his voice warbling. He cleared his throat a little, repeating it with more authority, “I’m fine.” There was some rustling, 

“Y’sure don’t seem fine,” Dave’s voice came, closer this time, “I mean, shit man, you were thrashing around and yelling ’n shit, like some kinda possessed fish on dry land, all gasping for breath and contortionists positions.” 

“Was just a nightmare,” John replied, looking up from his hideaway in his arms to flash Dave a small, hopefully brave smile, despite feeling like he was crumbling into dust and sand, “I’ll live.” John couldn’t see much without his glasses; just a mesh of colours and the vaguest shapes, but he could still tell that Dave was worried out of his mind. 

“Just a nightmare,” John said softly. Dave gently put a warm hand on John’s back, and John buried his head in his arms and sobbed, huge gasping breaths that caused him to shake and tremble violently. Dave’s hand awkwardly rubbed his back, and he muttered things like ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you don’t have to cry’ under his breath. They weren’t particularly comforting, but they were endearing enough to accomplish what they set out to. 

 

John cried for a long time. He wasn’t particularly sure why, but whatever nightmare he’d had left him feeling guilty, and terrified, and like he’d lost something so incredibly valuable, something irreplaceable. So he sobbed, without knowing why, and slowly, slowly the sobs died down into just tears, which faded to sniffles, until he was just slightly teary eyed and exhausted. Dave still had his hand on his back, and was still mumbling ‘it’s okay’ and ‘don’t cry’, clearly half asleep. 

“Thanks, Dave,” he whispered, leaning into him. 

“Don’t cry, ’s okay,” was Dave’s only response. He laughed a little, despite himself, and looked up at the night sky. He couldn’t imagine going back to sleep.

 

A really beautiful fingernail moon was high overhead. 

 

* * *

 

Apparently, he did sleep, because he was awoken by Dave’s rustling. They’d fallen asleep sitting up, supporting each other like a strange sort of arch. John sat up, letting Dave slump over, and stretched his back. The previous night was pretty much entirely forgotten, except for the salt that had dried on his cheeks. He rubbed at them, and set about packing up. There were no clouds overhead, and the birds were tweeting amiably in the trees. John packed his bad, deciding to treat himself and put on a change of clothes. 

 

“Can’t do that,” Dave mumbled to nobody. John laughed, and decided it was high time they hit the road. The city was only a few more days walk, and then they’d rest and bathe and whatever else. A hot meal was also sounding particularly nice, especially seeing as they hadn’t been bothered enough to cook anything whilst they were on the road. 

“C’mon Dave,” John said, nudging him gently with his shoe, “Get up and go!” Dave groaned, rolling over and blinking blearily up at him. The boys sat there staring at each other a while, John in amusement, Dave in confusion. 

“What time’s it?” Dave asked, propping himself up on his elbows. John rolled his eyes, leaning down to grab ahold of his wrists, and struggling to pull him to his feet. 

“Time to get going, now _c’mon,_ ” John insisted, tugging at Dave’s arms, “I want to see if we can make it to the city before dusk! I’m sick of bread and dried meat for dinner!”

“Alright alright,” Dave said, slowly lumbering to his feet, “hold your horses, John.” 

 

Once they were back on the road, the excitement of the adventure returned. Finding a long lost sword, to open the gates to a treasure trove. The novelty and adventure of the whole thing returned to him, and it was with a spring in his step that they returned to the main road. John talked the whole time, pausing only to sneeze into the crook of his arm. There were loads of strange flowers around, and John assumed he was allergic to them, which was worrying because every time he sneezed, a stiff and powerful breeze came shooting out of his mouth, another shitty side effect of half-done magic training. He just sneezed into his arm, and hoped nobody noticed. Dave just nodded now and then, blessing him when he sneezed, and walking on silently. The road was empty, and John assumed it was because it was a Sunday, and everyone was in church. 

“Dude, pastors probably going on about how it’s sinful to have red eyes around about now,” John said, nudging Dave. 

“Or how it’s sinful to make out with other dudes,” Dave said. John laughed. 

“Yeah, unless those dudes are under twelve,” John replied, grinning widely. Dave barked a laugh, hitting John on the shoulder. 

“Dude,” he said, “gross.”

“What? We all knew it was happening!” 

“Yeah, but c’mon, man,” Dave replied, nodding to a small child passing them on the road, “Keep it age appropriate.”

“Are you sure she’s”-he paused here to sneeze-“not gonna mug us for all we’re worth?” John asked innocently. 

“Just because it hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it won’t,” Dave said warningly, “and bless you.”

“Look, Dave, I _really_ think you need to trust people more,” John said scoldingly. 

“Aye,” a woman a few paces behind them said, “the people around here are more trustworthy than most.” John turned to smile at her. She was a skinny woman, wearing a dirty apron over a dirtier dress, and her frizzy blonde hair stuck up like a strange sort of halo. 

“Oh, I think he knows that,” John said, despite Dave’s urgent tugging on John’s sleeve, “He’s just used to people he knows. Grew up in a small town.” 

“Oh? What brings you so far away from home?” She asked, falling into pace with them. This obviously made Dave uncomfortable. John ignored him.

“Oh, the usual,” he grinned, “seaking fame and fortune,”-he paused here to sneeze-“You?” 

“I have to go into the market on Sundays,” she explained, “have a family to feed and all that. Money’s a bit tight this week though, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, I’m sure things will look up,” John said, grinning. She smiled coyly at him. 

“I think they already are,” she said, her lips stretched into a thin smile. Before John could react, she had him in a headlock, and a knife pressed to his throat. Dave had his sword drawn instantly.

“I know this is a really bad time, but fucking hell, Egbert, this wouldn’t have happened if we’d done it my way,” Dave said, not breaking eye contact with the lady. John rolled his eyes, despite the panic seeping through his body. 

“Twenty gold pieces, or I slit his throat,” she spar. 

“Not happening,” Dave growled. 

“Look, I’m sure he’s a lovely boy, but one of two things is about to happen; I’m about to leave 20 gold pieces richer, or his blood’s going to be all over the road.” 

“Or you cut your losses, turn around, and go home?” John offered. She pressed the knife to his throat a little harder. He bit his tongue. 

“Okay, okay,” Dave said, looking defeated. He slowly took off his pack, and started going through it for the sack of money the mayor had given them. 

“Hurry up,” she hissed. John knew how this would go. Dave would show her where his money was, and she’d take it, killing them both. Luckily, in John’s panicked and crazed mind, he slowly managed to formulate a plan. 

 

John sneezed. 

 

John sneezed, and with it, brought a gust of wind strong enough to bowl them both over. She went skidding a little distance away, and John went scrambling free. Dave, as if on cue, took two short steps towards her, and hit her on the back of her head with the hilt of his sword, knocking her out. 

 

The boys sat there a little while, trying to work out what just happened.

“I’m not even gonna look a gift horse in the mouth,” Dave said, offering a hand to John. He pulled himself to his feet, dusting himself down. 

“You alright?” Dave asked, checking himself. 

“Yeah,” John said, trying to quiet the hammering in his heart, “peachy!” There was a long silence as they stared at the woman crumpled on the ground. 

“Dude, I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’, but I fucking told you so,” Dave said, grinning. 

“Shuddup,” John grumbled, hitting him lightly on the arm, “If we’d done it your way, we’d have been eaten by those weird fire-eating things, or worse.” Dave opened his mouth to make a retort, but shut it again. 

“Fair,” he said, shrugging his pack back onto his shoulders. They continued on in silence, glancing around themselves to make sure that they hadn’t been followed. 

 

The adventure was becoming more and more work, and less and less fun. More and more guts, less and less glory. But John wouldn’t have changed it. He was sure that in retrospect, this little stint in the limelight would be the highlight of his life. 

 

They reached the city gates just before nightfall, and were astonished to discover that it was heavily guarded, with a long line of people trying to get in.

“What’s going on?” he asked Dave. 

Dave merely shrugged, but someone standing in line answered simply that ‘checkin’ the fuckin’ papers takes a fuckin’ eternity, mate.’ John groaned, walking over to the side of the road and sitting down on a nearby tree stump. Dave followed, nipping at his heels.

“Papers?” Dave asked quietly, turning to John. 

“Travelling papers,” John said with a sigh, “that like, prove you’re not a criminal. Impossible to forge, expensive as anything, and they take like, three months to get properly approved.” 

“Fucking shit,” Dave said, collapsing down beside John, “all this way for nothing.” They sat in morose silence as they watched the line dwindle, and finally cease to exist. The gate was shut, but the guards remained on patrol. 

“So much for sneaking in,” John said miserably. Something occurred to him, and he sat up straight. He took off his pack, and started riffling through it for the map. Dave watched him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Something bothering you?” he asked, disinterestedly. John pulled out half of the crumpled bit of paper, and smoothed it out against his leg. 

“I think there’s another way in,” John said, squinting down at the map. Dave, suddenly full of life, sprang into action, and knelt beside John to try and get a look. 

“See, the swamp lands are probably too marshy to build on, so I don’t think there’d be a wall there, or any major defences to speak of. We could sneak in through there!” John chirped, the adrenaline returning to his system.

“You sure?” Dave asked uncertainly. John faltered a little.

“No, but it’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

“Nothing to loose, everything to gain,” Dave agreed, taking the map, “Aight, so we’d go off the road…here, and into the Fear Swamp about here, and walk for maybe a day this way, and bam, we’re in. Just like a couple of motherfucking spies.”

“Sounds like a plan!” John beamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: Before 25th of Oct!  
> The blog is here: http://tbatbs.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5: Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in a name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe this only took me 5 days. This chapter is almost 11.5k long...  
> Still no Beta, so the quality of this things is likely a little shakey. I hope you like it!

“Where are you two going?” a man walking down the road asked. John, the portable ray of sunshine he was, spun around and grinned widely at him. 

“Oh, you know, just looking for a nice spot to camp for the night!” he beamed. Damn, the boy was good at this. 

“Y’won’t find one around there,” the man said, and in the fading light Dave thought that he paled a little, “Nothing that way but the Fear Swamp.” 

“Oh, we’ve slept in damper places,” John said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“But nowhere more terrifying,” the man insisted. He took half a step towards the boys, and Dave took an instinctive step back, pulling John along with him, “It’s called the Fear Swamp for a reason.” 

“Yeah, to scare off travellers,” John said brightly, but Dave proudly noticed the tell-tale signs of the lie; the slight shuffling of his feet, the way he turned slightly more side on to whoever he was talking to. 

“Oh, no no no,” the young man said, and Dave saw that, independently of the lighting, the man had gone white as a sheet, “There’s more to it.” 

“Oh?” Dave asked, and cursed himself for it. There was nothing positive that was likely to come out of this conversation. 

“Aye,” the man said.

“Care to explain?” John asked, his voice as cheery as ever. The man licked his lips, then gestured to the impressive city walls. 

“You see those?” he asked. 

“Hard not to,” Dave muttered, and so earned a sharp jab to his ribs. 

“Those are the famous walls of the Silver City,” he said, ignoring Dave’s snarky comment, “They weigh over a hundred pounds per half-mile, and are the strongest in the region. However, the swamp that borders the city to the west is too marshy to support them, so you know what they did?”

“What?” asked John, rapt. 

“They hired a mage to cast a spell over the swamp, a spell so strong it exists to this day. Any who enter the swamp are forced to see their greatest fear, over and over, until they are either driven to the edge of the swamp, or the edge of their sanity!” the man finished in a hushed voice. A young lady passing by them snorted.

“An old wive’s tale!” she cried, turning to Dave, “My brothers work in the swamp, cutting firewood, picking mushrooms, and let me tell you, they’re more sane than the three of you.”

“It’s faded to legend,” the man said, ignoring her, “because nobody’s entered it from the outside of the city for years.” 

“We’ll take our chances,” John said, shrugging, “thanks for your concern though, sir!” And with that, he hurriedly grabbed Dave’s elbow, and they walked off hurriedly West, against the sinking sun. 

 

“You were in a terrible hurry to get out of there,” Dave smirked, “Like some sort of kid with his hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, except the cookie jar is whatever the fuck that guy was saying, and the little kid is you.” 

“Yeah, well,” John said, “if I listened for much longer he was going to start really freaking me out!”

“Hey, listen. I don’t think a spell like that _exists,_ and even if it did, Magic has been banned for years,” Dave said, pulling his arm out of John’s grasp. John stayed worryingly silent. 

“Yeah, I suppose,” John grumbled, and left it at that. 

 

They walked through the night a small while, coming to the edges of the swamp. The stench alone was almost enough to make Dave turn back, like sulphur and rotting fruit. The trees, dense and foreboding, were clearly ancient, their grey trunks twisted and gnarled. The leaves, a pale yellow in the reflected moonlight, appeared sickly, and the ground underfoot was already unpleasantly soft. No animals could be heard, no birds or rustling of foxes. Just the faint whistle of wind. 

“Well, I say, we go in a little ways and make camp,” Dave said, ignoring the slightly disquieting nature of the swamp, “And start bright, fresh and early. In town this time tomorrow, get a decent meal and a good night sleep, and bam. We’re hunting that sword, like a couple of motherfucking ace hunters.” Dave looked over at John, who was glancing around slightly nervously. 

“You okay?” Dave asked, softer than he’d spoken in a while, “you don’t usually let me go on for that long.” John looked up at him, flashing him a slightly shaky smile.

“Yeah, just tired, I guess,” he said with a shrug. 

“Well lucky for you,  I have the _perfect_ remedy,” Dave grinned, and they pushed on into the swamp, their feet sinking into the marshy land. They rolled down their mats, John pulled whatever trick he usually pulled to get a modest little fire going, and they dropped off. Or rather, Dave watched John drop off. He remembered, however vaguely, John screaming and crying in the night, and blaming it on nightmares. They hadn’t spoken about it, and Dave had essentially pretended that the whole ordeal had never happened, but he thought about it heavily for much of the day. As he curled up that night, he wondered what possible ghosts could lurk in the dark for the Baker’s Son. 

 

* * *

 

He woke up late the next morning, blinking the sun out of his eyes. He felt damp, and the cold seemed to seep right down to his bones. He rolled over to see that the fire had burned down to blackened branches, and John was nowhere to be seen. He sat bolt upright, looking around in the misty swamp. When had the mist rolled in? 

“John?” he called out cautiously. No response. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. John was fine. 

“John?” he asked again. No response. Dave felt his chest tighten. Nobody lived in the swamp. Nobody would be crazy enough to live here, so nobody was kidnapping him. Nobody was murdering him. And there was no way John had just up and abandoned him like that. He was probably taking a piss or something. But his mat was gone, and his pack was gone and-

“John?” he called, hating the way his voice cracked slightly. _He’s not abandoned you,_ he told himself firmly, _he’s not left you here, he’s your friend, he’s not just-_

 

_What else happened?_

 

Dave leapt to his feet, grabbing his sword, slinging his pack over his shoulder, and tearing off in a random direction. 

“John?” he was screaming by now, his voice cracking miserably. He couldn’t care. He’d been thrown into what could easily be considered a fully blown panic. Something small in the back of his head said something about “your worst fears”, but the rest of his head was too busy screaming for him to hear it. He tripped over a root, landing flat on his front, his shades skidding a little distance ahead. He scrambled away, slashing out frantically at the offending obstacle. His chest felt tight, too small to contain the hammering of his heart. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” someone said. A whisper, right by his ear. _John_ whispering right in his ear. Dave swatted at the space next to his ear.

“I can’t believe I was tied down to you for as long as I was,” John said, more solid. Standing by the root, looking down at Dave in…pity? No. Disgust. Hatred. 

“Look at you!” he spat, glaring at Dave, “dead weight, painful, a waste of space.” Dave choked back a panicked sob. No way was John saying this. No way John _could_ be saying this. But there he was. 

“Disgusting. Horrific. Scared of everything. A pain in the ass. Fucking disgraceful,” somewhere, John had turned into the Blacksmith, and in his thick accent the abuse continued to spill. He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block it out. A few tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes, slipping down his cheek. Something in the back of his mind, some small rational voice asked how in hell the Blacksmith had managed to get here, and turned into John, but Dave couldn’t put the pieces together.

“Low. Dishonourable. Embarrassing. Shabby. Inglorious. _Humiliating,”_ The Blacksmith had changed again, and Dave let out another shameful sob. He knew that voice. Tall. Muscular. Thick blonde hair. Wide stance. Everyone said that they looked alike but Dave could never see it in that long face, that wide back. His brother took a step closer to him, squatting down in front of Dave. Dave squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Fucking Humiliating. Look at you! Crying over nothing. Disgusting. Loathsome. Inexcusable, spineless. _Weak_. Do you hear that, baby brother? _Weak!_ Look at me, Dave,” the voice was so close, he could feel the damp puff of breath between his eyes, and he shamefully flinched. 

“No,” he gasped out, his voice wavering. 

“Look at me, Dave!” it boomed, furious, angry. 

“No!” he cried back over the lump in his throat. 

“ _Look_ at me, Dave,” it said, much quieter. Not his brother. Not the Blacksmith. John. Hands on his shoulders, solid. Comforting. He chanced it, cracking an eye open. Scarcely an inch from his face was the round face of the Baker’s son. Dave flinched, struggling backwards a little, but John’s hands trapped him. 

“It’s me,” he said, smiling sadly, “It’s _really_ me. Promise. I guess that guy was right after all, about the spells and stuff.” 

“I…” was all he managed. 

“It’s alright, Dave, it’s not real,” he said, inching closer. Dave looked around. The mist had cleared.

 

He dropped his sword with a dull thud on the soft earth and surged forward, gripping John’s tunic tightly. John seemed somewhat alarmed by this, and for a while sat there, shell shocked. But, eventually, he wrapped one arm around Dave’s back, and the other cradled Dave’s head to his shoulder. Dave let out a shaky breath into John’s shirt, and just sat there a while, his face pressed into the warm fabric. John didn’t say anything, any words of comfort or attempts at normalcy. Dave was infinitely grateful for it. _He’s not abandoning you_ , he told himself firmly, _he’s right here, and he’s not going to abandon you._  

 

After a while, Dave gathered himself together, picked up his sunglasses and sword, and got to his feet. 

“Thanks,” he rasped, and pulled John up after him. John just smiled in response. He pulled out his half of the map, and Dave followed suit. 

“Okay,” he said, with a sigh, “I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we have to head East.” John looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun.  
“East is…that way!” he chirped, pointing off in some direction. 

“Right, just a day of wandering through our worst nightmares,” Dave said with mock enthusiasm, “this should be fun.”

“Oh yeah!” John agreed, grinning, “it’s something I dreamed about every night as a child!” 

“Now, Egbert,” Dave said as they set off, “I know you’re a big boy, but just remember, if you ever get scared, you can always take my hand.” John laughed, rolled his eyes, gave him a friendly punch, and they continued on in silence. The mist slowly creeped back around their ankles, and as soon as John noticed it, he reached across, and limply took Dave’s hand. They both refused to let go. 

 

The thing that Dave found odd about the Fear Swamp was that it could A) Only show you _your_ greatest fear, and B) could only show _you_ your greatest fear. It didn’t seem as though the swamp had been designed for two people, especially since it could apparently only show one fear at a time. So, as they walked deeper and deeper into the swamp, John would pause suddenly, and look off into middle distance, sweating a little. At which point Dave would gently tug on his hand, and they’d continue onwards. The things Dave saw got progressively more horrific. His brother was dead. Sburb was burning and he held the match. The worst one he saw was John’s mangled and bloody body, chest heaving with the effort of breathing, his glasses shattered and whispering _help me dave help me help me-_ But it wasn’t John. And though it shook him to his core, it wasn’t John. John was gently pulling his hand, mumbling something like ‘c’mon, let’s go’. Dave never asked what it was John was seeing; that just felt intrusive and rude, likewise, John never asked about Dave’s visions. It wasn’t their role, right now, to understand. All they had to do was help. 

 

They didn’t stop for lunch, and made it to the end of the swamp a little before the evening. Exhausted and emotional, the boys slipped quietly over the shoddy wooden fence that separated the swamp with the city entrance. A thin cobbled path flowed into a crowded city square. Nobody noticed them enter, and they set all their remaining energy to finding an inn for the night. They found one with relative ease, a squat building titled ‘The Bull’s Back’. 

“Dumb name for an inn,” John said. Dave snorted. 

“I honestly couldn’t care less,” he said holding the door open to the warm, buzzing dining area, “come on.”

 

They stumbled their way to the lady running it, a formidable looking woman with straight hair and sharp eyes. Dave subtly put John between himself and the mean looking woman. John looked between Dave and the woman, who had still not noticed them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Aye?” she said cooly, not looking up from whatever vitally important thing she was writing down. 

“Two rooms for the night?” John asked.

“Not possible, we’re full,” she answered, still without looking at them. 

“Please?” John asked again, looking pathetic. The woman looked up at them, noticed their dirty clothes, their stench, the exhaustion and residual panic in their eyes. Her face softened. 

“A room ought to open up in a couple of hours,” she said, going back to writing, “I’d suggest you have a wash. Y’both smell like you’ve waded through a slaughterhouse.” They both thanked her heartily, and walked back out into the square. They stood there, blinking at each other, before John turned back into the Bull’s Back. A few moments later, he reemerged. 

“Baths are this way,” he said, setting off. Dave followed wordlessly. 

 

The baths were warm, smelled pleasant, and were communal. Upon noticing that there was no sign differentiating the mens’ from the women’s bath, they were also, apparently, co-ed. 

“Dude,” Dave said, nudging John and grinning lecherously. John just gave him a dry look. It took Dave a while to remember. 

“Right, sorry,” he said, blushing a little. 

“No problem,” John said, “but I wouldn’t get your hopes up either way. Only rich old ladies use the baths.” 

“Key word there being ‘rich’, and the second key word being ‘ladies’.”

“Key word being _old,_ and _wrinkly,_ with their boobs sagging down to their _knees,_ and-“ John didn’t get much further, his monologuing cut off by Dave’s hysterical laughter. Dave didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed quite so hard. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” he managed, wiping the moisture from under his eyes, “let’s go. You stink.” 

 

The price for entry was a scant one bronze coin, and there was a spot where they could wash their clothes. Dave’s hopes (and John’s fears) were crushed, because it turned out that they were the only ones there. Most people in the city, Dave reasoned, could only afford a bath once a week, and that ‘once’ was likely to be a Sunday. 

“Damn,” he said, glancing around the quiet room. The ugly stone flooring was punctuated by a huge square body of water, giving off enough steam to make the rest of the room murky. Off to the side there was bar of soap, a washboard, and a small bucket of cold water.

“Right,” Dave said, setting down his pack, “I dibs first use of the washing clothes area.” 

“Can you wash mine as well?” John asked, stripping off his tunic. 

“Fuck no,” Dave replied, wriggling out of his. He gave it an experimental sniff, and recoiled in disgust. 

“Well, I guess we’re just going to have to do it at the same time. Gives our clothes more time to dry anyway,” John said, pulling out his piles of stinking clothes. 

“Great friendship bonding time,” Dave mumbled, “squatting buckass nude next to the same bucket of water, scrubbing the sweat and sulphur out of our clothes.” John gave a small laugh. Eventually, they both had their respective piles of clothes, and were silently scrubbing against the sudsy washboard. Dave, feeling his cheeks go very pink, refused to either take off the glasses or say a word to John. They sat on opposite sides of the bucket, meaning he didn’t have to look at what John had between his legs. The idea made him colour slightly more. After hurriedly pinning up his clothes to dry, he jumped into the bath and stayed there, submerged to his nose in the slightly murky water. He stared straight ahead, refusing to look at anything but the hugely interesting crack in the wall across from him. He wasn’t quite sure why he was feeling so self-conscious about being naked. Possibly had something to do with John, possibly had something to do with the fact that they were the only ones there. Either way, he decided to refuse to get out until John was dressed, packed up, and back at the inn.

“Dave,” John said scoldingly from the other side of the bath. Dave refused to acknowledge him. John flicked some water in his direction. Dave glanced over at him with the most minute turn of his head. 

“Just ‘cause I like men doesn’t mean I’m after your dick,” he said, looking a little annoyed. Dave felt his face go slightly more red. 

“Wha-“ 

“I’m gay,” he said, grinning, “not desperate.” 

“Hey, fuck you,” Dave cried, kicking a little water in John’s direction, “I’m a fucking _catch_. Ladies lining up to get a slice of the Strider.” 

“Sure, right, that’s totally what we’ve seen happen,” he said, rolling his eyes, “if anything, the ladies have purposely _avoided_ you!” 

“Only because they’re intimidated by how badly they want me,” he said with a flip of his hair. John laughed, and everything was restored to normal.

 

They grabbed their clothes, enjoyed the feeling of having dry, clean clothes on dry, clean bodies, and headed back to the inn. The lady handed them a key, telling them that a week was the most they could stay, without once looking at them. John took the key wordlessly, flashing her a bright smile that was totally lost on her. They dumped their bags in the room, and hurried back down to get some form of a decent dinner. Neither of them had eaten all day, and both were ignoring the obnoxious gurgling in their stomachs. They got large plates of cheap meat and potatoes, and sat down in a corner, listening to the conversations going on around them. 

“Five gold,” one man muttered, “five whole gold! It’s shameful, the taxes. Where is the money even going?”

“Have you heard? The gorgon of Derse finally died!” some lady whispered to her friend, “Two boys killed it, chopped its head clean off!” (John and Dave shared a smirk at that). 

“Are you going to the tourney tomorrow, Dad?” another man asked. 

“O’Course!” an old man replied heartily, “if nothing but to see them get rid of that bloody sword. It’s been sitting around in the archives for too long, I say!” Dave subtly turned himself so he could get a better ear into the conversation. 

“Johnson’s competing, you know,” the young man said. 

“Johnson?” the old man cried, apparently shocked by this news, “He’s never had a day of training in his life! How’d he get in?” 

“It’s only a few bronze for entry,” the young man said dismissively, “he says it ought to be good fun.” 

“It’s a good way to get killed, let me tell you that much,” the old man grumbled. 

“He’ll be fine,” the young man said, “you’re such a pessimist.” Dave polished off his plate, waited impatiently for John to finish off his, grabbed a candle, and pulled him up the stairs to their room. 

 

“It’s totally the sword we’re looking for,” Dave said, as soon as they were safely inside, “Been in the archives forever, bound to the dark archives, John it’s it.” 

“I dunno,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, it just doesn’t seem to add up.”

“Look,” Dave said, running a hand through his hair, “It’s the bet shot we have, realistically. And what do we have to loose?”

“Dave,” John sighed, making eye contact with the other boy, “are you sure this is about the sword?”

“Of course it’s about the sword, what else would-“

“And not about having something to prove?” John finished softly. Dave didn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t particularly feel like denying it. Mostly because there was very little to deny. The swamp had been a blow to his self esteem, the way he’d sobbed and held onto John like a little child. Maybe John was right. Maybe he had to prove to himself that he was still strong, still powerful enough. Still good enough.

“I’m just worried that you’re gonna go and get yourself killed,” John added. 

“I’m not,” Dave replied, refusing to look at him. There was a long silence. 

“Fine,” John said in the end, brightly enough that Dave felt brave enough to look at him. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, and you’re right, it’s the best we have at the moment. Might as well give it a shot!” Dave cracked half a smile at it. 

“Alright,” he said, shedding his tunic, “time to get some high quality sleep, in an actual goddamn bed for the first time in a week.” John groaned at the idea of such a luxury. 

“Finally!” he cheered, wriggling out of his. They simultaneously turned to see one double bed. There was a collective pause. 

“Fuck it,” Dave decided eventually, “I don’t care.” 

“You sure?” John asked, hesitantly. 

“I don’t care,” Dave said again, kicking off his boots. 

“But, it’s just-“ 

“Don’t. Care.” 

“I mean, if you’re really uncomfortable, I can just-“ 

“John get in the fucking bed. I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” John flashed him a grateful smile, and crawled in under the covers next to him. Dave curled up facing one way, and John lay so that he faced the opposite direction. Just the barest curve of their backs touched, a small point of warmth. John blew out the candle giving them the slightest light, and the room slipped quietly into a purer darkness.

 

It wasn’t at all like the last time, when they’d both been too drunk and tired to lie separately. Last time was collapsing in piles and heaps, this time was carefully tucking themselves under the covers. This was more purposeful, more decided. It was out of necessity, true enough, but one of them could have slept on the floor. Dave considered it, but the comfort of the bed outweighed the idea. After the swamp, Dave decided, they both needed a good night’s rest. He was struck suddenly with an insatiable need to know what it was John had seen in the terrible mist, and before he could stop himself he was speaking.

“Hey John?” Dave asked quietly in the dark. His voice was soft, but Dave felt John startle a little anyway. 

“Yeah?” John rasped back. There was a long silence, and Dave reconsidered. 

“Nothing. G’night,” he said. It wasn’t his place to pry. 

 

* * *

 

Dave woke up the next morning to John shifting a little on the mattress, and noticed that John had, like the last time they’d shared a bed, wrapped his arms around Dave’s waist, and had his face pressed between Dave’s shoulder blades. And, just like the last time they’d shared a bed, John was fast asleep. Usually, John was the first one up, awoken by some strange internal clock at the break of day. Last time, Dave had blamed it on drink. This time, there was no explanation. Dave rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and awkwardly patted John on the forearm. It didn’t make him as uncomfortable as it probably should have. 

“C’mon,” Dave grumbled, his voice still sleepy, “We’ve got stuff to do.” John grumbled a little, shuffling away. Dave sat up, pulling on a tunic, and glanced over at John. He had impressive bedhead, it all sticking up on the one side, and a dazed sort of look. _Adorable_. Dave loudly ignored the thought. John rolled over, pulled on the same shirt he’d had on yesterday and his boots. They were out the door in a flash. 

 

It didn’t take them particularly long to work out where the tourney sign up was. After scarfing down a quick breakfast, they began the difficult task of locating the tourney, and managed to find it in about two minutes. Everyone was flocking to what they assumed to be the centre of town, to a large arena buzzing with a hundred voices. A table next to the entrance advertised that the sign up closed at midday, just before the tourney began, and Dave jotted his name down, making the list an even ten. 

“Alright Sir…” the man at the table squinted down at Dave’s sloppy handwriting, “Strider, you and your squire can go in through there. I do hope you’ll understand, but I’m afraid everyone has to use regulation armour. Don’t want the richer of us having the upper hand.” 

“He’s not my-“ Dave started, but John elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

“Thank you,” John chirped, and pushed Dave onto where the man had gestured. This suddenly seemed like a really bad idea. What kinds of people would he be up against?

 

John ushered them both into a dingy little room, a suit of armour all laid out on a table. John ran a hand over it.

“Dude, I have no idea how to attach this to you, but I’ll give it my best,” was all he said. John then set about awkwardly strapping on the minimal armour; a chest plate, some shin guards, something John said with a lot of confidence was a pair of ‘forearm protecters’, and a helmet. None of it fit properly, and with each addition to the costume, Dave’s anxiety increased. 

“John?” he said, once all the finery was on. 

“Yeah?” 

“This suddenly seems like a really fuckin’ shitty idea.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I mean,” Dave went on, “I’ve never really had to _use_ this piece of shit before. Aside from slicing wildly. People here are probably gonna be, y’know. Parrying and blocking and whatever the fuck else. I’m some kid who got a free sword from an insane blacksmith-“

“Dave.”

“And what if they have shields? Oh god, I’m meant to have a shield, aren’t I? How the fuck do you use a shield?”

“Dave.”

“This was such a bad idea. I’m gonna make a goddamn fool out of myself-“ 

“Dave!” Dave was snapped out of his monologuing by a pair of heavy hands on his shoulders. 

“Yeah?” was all he managed. 

“Shut up,” John grinned, “here, practice on uh, this wooden beam over here.” He gestured vaguely to a wooden beam in the corner of the room. 

“That seems like a bad idea,” Dave said, eyeing the beam, “shit looks structurally integral.”

“You know what else is a bad idea? Signing up for a fucking tourney when you have literally no experience with a sword.” Dave pondered this. 

“Fair.” 

“Right, so square up, and practice!” John said, nudging him in the right direction. Dave exhaled, steadying himself, and swung wildly at the beam. It just glanced off the side. 

“Uh, try being a little more accurate when you swing?” John offered unhelpfully. Fuck it. Dave could probably take all the help he could get. He swung again, more careful now, this time managing to put a small scratch on the beam. 

“Uh, now add power?” John suggested. Dave swung a third time, and the sword embedded itself into the wood.

“Yeah, that looks like it’ll do sufficient damage,” John said, and Dave could hear the grin.

“Right, so how do I use a shield?” he asked, turning to John.

“Just sort of put it between you and the other guy’s sword,” John shrugged, “seems simple enough.” 

“Sure,” Dave muttered, “Simple.” A fanfare started up outside. Dave heard John push off the table. 

“I’ll watch you, okay?” he said, offering a reassuring smile, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He turned to go out the door, and Dave could already feel the panic returning. 

“Oh, and Dave?” John called from the doorway, “Please be careful.” And with that, John was off, out of sight. 

 

Dave spent a long time pacing. Hitting at the beam. Taking off his shades. Putting them back on. Pacing. Listening to the sounds of the crowd cheering, the clash of metal on the other side of the wall. He missed John terribly, if only for the slightly pragmatic, calming aura he had about him at the moment. Before he knew it, someone had bustled into the room, handed him a shield, removed his glasses, and started speaking at him. He missed the rules as they were explained to him, nodding vacantly at phrases like ‘first blood’ and ‘elimination’ without fully comprehending what they meant. Then, he was being ushered out the door and into the blinding light of an arena. 

 

The first thing he noticed was that he seemed to have gone deaf, hardly being able to hear his own thoughts above the rabble of the stalls. The second thing he noticed was the mountain of a man standing opposite him. The chest plate barely fit him, and Dave (who was not a short man) had to crane his neck to see his face. Or where his face should have been. Instead, all he got was a face full of grill. It occurred to Dave that he ought to flip that down over his own face as well. The man opposite at him glared a while, before turning and bowing to someone. Dave did the same, hoping it was what he ought to do. 

“Lord Monteglio, I fight for your glory!” the man yelled in a voice so loud it overpowered the cheering of the crowd. 

“Lord Monteglio, I fight for your…uh, honour,” Dave mumbled at the ground. Who the fuck was Lord Monteglio? 

“Rise,” a royal voice said. Dave stood upright, and saw, for the first time, who he was actually bowing to. Dressed to the nines in finery, this Lord looked as though he was dressed in noting but melted down gold pieces. A rich purple cloak trimmed in unnamed fur was wrapped around his shoulders, warding off any potential chills that might waft through, and an ornate crown sat atop his head, decorated in red and blue jewels that cast coloured reflections across the arena. He sat on a comfortable looking seat, two burly men on either side, separated from the rest of the common folk. From what Dave could tell, he also had a nose that was slightly too long for his face. 

“Now,” the Lord said, holding up one hand, and a hush fell over the crowd, “To the First Blood!” 

 

Dave didn’t have long to think about this before he heard the thundering of his opponent’s feet, crashing over the sandy ground towards him. Dave looked, and saw a wild animal charging towards him. In a blind panic, it was all he could do to take a few steps to his right, and to his amazement, the beast refused to alter his course. He ran straight past Dave, who took this opportunity to draw his sword and raise his shield. The beast turned wildly, looking as to where his prey had gotten to, his posture manic and crazed. He quickly located Dave again, and with a tremendous roar began sprinting in his direction once again. Dave sidestepped, feeling confident enough to stick out his leg slightly so that his opponent went tumbling into the sand. This brought a bubble of laughter through the crowd, and Dave felt slightly better about his prospects. He didn’t have long to revel in this small victory before the beast was on him again, his sword raised high above his head; ready to kill. Dave acted without thinking, putting his shield between him and the glinting, sharp steel. The force made him stagger backwards slightly, and the sound made was so loud that some sitting in the front few rows had to cover their ears. The man came at him again, his sword raised in the exact same threatening position, and Dave deflected the blow with his shield once again. By the third time, Dave had a pretty good feeling of what was about to happen. The beast (obviously too stupid to change his routine in any way, shape, or form) came charging at Dave once again, his sword raised high above his head. Dave deflected the blow with his shield, but this time pushed upwards so that the metal of his shield came into contact with his enemy’s helmet with a dull thud. A deathly silence had fallen over the crowd The beast staggered back and Dave took a wild swing outwards, catching the side of his opponent. Red began to flow forth from a long thin slice in his side. 

 

Suddenly, the arena erupted into noise, men and women cheering as loudly as they could muster, as some large men came to escort his opponent from the amphitheatre. Tamed by the battle, the beast went without a fight. Dave turned to face the lord, bowing again because it seemed the right thing to do here. There was a long pause as they waited for the crowd to calm down. 

“What is your name, sir?” The lord asked. 

“Strider,” he said in as clear a voice as he could, “David Strider.”

“Very well,” he said, “Rise, Strider, as the victor of the battle!” The crowd took this as their cue to begin manically yelling and cheering again. Dave took it as his cue to stand up straight. He quickly managed to locate John in the crowd, flipping up his visor to get a better look at him. John was grinning like a madman, whooping and hollering with the rest of them. Dave flashed him a grin. The lady next to him seemed to think this was for her, and swooned dramatically to her friend. Dave couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

 

“Bring out the rest of the Champions!” the Lord declared, gesturing boldly. Dave was soon joined by four other people, all sweating and in scant, dented armour. He chanced a look at the rest of the opposition. There was one extremely short, skinny looking fellow, with a lightweight, thin, short sword. There was one who stood quite proudly, a shock of thick blonde hair just visible under the edge of the helmet. There was one man standing so stiff that Dave thought for a moment he was a wax statue of some sort, and there was a man standing on the far side of the arena looking so confident, it kind of hurt Dave to look at him. 

“The contestants for round two,” Monteglio declared, “Abraham Johnson-“ he paused so the crowd could give a cheer. The stiff looking man raised his chin slightly. 

“Robert Ridley,” the blonde one gave a sweeping wave. The crowd cheered much louder. 

“William VonBach,” the short one squared his shoulders a little. The crowd cheered in a way which can only be described as ‘polite’. 

“David Strider,” Dave, not having anything better to do, just waved sheepishly. The man at the end of the line seemed to be shocked by this news, turning away from the Lord to get a better look at Dave. 

“And Jade Harley!” Monteglio finished dramatically. Wait. 

“Harley?” Dave repeated in shock. He turned to look at the last man in line. He lifted his visor to reveal the round, gentle face of a woman. She’d changed since Dave had seen her last, but he’d recognise the glittering green eyes just about anywhere. 

“Dave!” She cheered, running up to him, “God!” 

“Jade Harley,” he muttered under his breath, still surprised.

 

Jade had grown up in Sburb with Dave and John, the daughter of a candlemaker, but better known as the tanner’s Granddaughter. Her parents had died when she was very young, and her Grandfather had died when she was only slightly older. Dave vaguely remembered having a crush on her, and being heartbroken when she left with a man who had come to buy an expensive sword from the Blacksmith, but she had slipped his mind after so many years. 

 

She pulled him into a tight bear hug. Dave noticed that she was slightly taller than him. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by Lord Monteglio. 

“The next round will be as follows. Ridley, having the most decisive victory, will be accelerated into the third round”-he paused here to allow people to cheer-“Harley will battle VonBach, leaving Johnson and Strider to follow their duel.” 

 

Some more men escorted the ‘champions’ off to their separate, darkened rooms. Dave sat there, listening to the clash of metal that was dulled by the wall, feeling slightly more confident. That had been easier than he expected. _Much_ easier. Somewhere called the Silver City? He was expecting well trained swordsmen and battle-hardened knights, genius fencers and foreigners come from miles around to participate. Then again, the sign up was a waterlogged piece of paper, handled by a toothless, likely illiterate man who smelled like a sewer. And you only had to pay three bronze coins to enter. You could buy a damn bath for 3 people for the same price. Unlikely to be filled with masters, Dave reasoned. He suddenly felt much better about his prospects for winning. A piece of cake. Then all they had to do was find 2 more things and bam. Richest motherfuckers this side of the river Prospit. 

 

A cheer went up on the other side of the wall, and Dave assumed that Jade had just beaten her opponent into the ground. Something told him that Jade _had_ trained, quite extensively, with the guy who’d bought the sword. The thought made him slightly more nervous, but not much. He could tell, from years of working at the Blacksmith, that the sword she was using was old, and a little too heavy for her. Piece of cake. He made a mental note to advise her to get a slightly lighter sword. After he beat her, of course. Someone, once again, came and got him. He was ushered out into the sunlight, to the deafening roars of the crowd. He gave a cheery wave to them, his spirits lifted indefinitely by the first match. The tall, skinny, stiff looking man entered the arena as well, immediately bowing to the Lord. Right. Dave followed suit. 

“Lord Monteglio,” the other man said, his voice too high pitched and squeaky for his body, “I fight for your honour!”

“Stole my line,” Dave muttered, then in a louder voice said, “Lord Monteglio, I fight for your glory!” 

“Rise,” Monteglio said, “Now, to first blood!”

 

Dave turned to face his opponent, a man named Johnson, he recalled. He stood there, waiting for Dave to make the first move. Nerves returned, Dave obstinately refused, and they did nothing but circle each other a while. Someone yelled an annoyed ‘get on with it’. Dave refused to. And, apparently, so did Johnson. After a while, the circling was making Dave dizzy enough to give up, and just when he let his guard down, Johnson ran at him. Dave jumped aside, and Johnson (being smarter than the lump of a man he had recently faced) chased him, swinging wildly at Dave. He brought his shield up, blocking the blow and causing Johnson to stagger, his balance thrown off slightly. Dave, wanting the round to be over, swung out, aiming for his upper arm, but his opponent blocked the blow with _his_ shield. He lashed out again when the shield was down, but was blocked by Johnson’s sword. Johnson kicked out, hitting Dave in the chest, and he stumbled back a little. This gave them both some time to catch their breath, and they went back to circling each other. Dave was getting bored, Johnson was clearly getting impatient, and they were both getting tired. It was Dave this time, charging ahead, cutting in a wide arc. Johnson matched him, their swords glancing off each other. He swung again, and again, both times matched by the opposing sword. By the fourth time, Dave had formulated a shaky plan, meeting Johnson’s blow with his shield, pushing outwards so that he was left vulnerable, and sliced at his arm, drawing blood. Familiar with the system by now, Dave watched as the crowd cheered, checked to make sure that Johnson hadn’t been fatally injured, watched as he was escorted from the arena, and bowed again to Monteglio. 

 

He was joined by a grinning Jade, and that other prick. Princely? Pringles? Something like that. Dave really couldn’t care less. 

“The contestants for round 3,” Monteglio declared proudly, with a grand gesture, “Jade Harley! David Strider! And Robert Ridley!” The crowd cheered, as it did the first time with wild adoration. John had struck up a conversation with the lady sitting next to him, and didn’t catch Dave’s eye. Dave felt the smallest pang of jealousy, but let it slide. Dude probably deserved to get a little action between all the adventures. Wait. Right. He’s gay. Lord Monteglio put up his hand for silence

“The third round will be as follows,” he said, in his pretentious accent, “Harley, having the most decisive victory, will be accelerated to the final-“ he paused here to allow the crowd to cheer, “Leaving Strider and Ridley as the third round!” Jade passed him on her way to the room, clapping him on the shoulder and leaning close to his ear. 

“Good luck,” she murmured, “Bob fights dirty.” 

 

Dave was left facing Ridley, who quickly turned and bent the knee. Dave copied him. 

“Lord Monteglio,” Ridley said in a grand voice, “I fight for your honour and your glory!” 

“Lord Monteglio, I fight for your uh, amusement, I guess,” Dave said. This earned him a small chuckle from the audience.

“Rise! Now, to the yield!” 

 

Dave turned, only to see Ridley charging for him. He moved much quicker than Johnson, and with much more aggression. Dave barely had time to raise his sword to counter Ridley before he was bearing down on top of him, swinging with all the calculation and precision of a well trained swordsman. Dave countered him, again and again, being pushed backwards towards the wall. Finally, in a blind panic, he spun artfully outwards, managing to nick his opponent on the arm. He looked at it triumphantly, and waited for the men to come out and take him away. Instead, Ridley looked mildly insulted by the scratch, and went at Dave again, fighting with just as much determination as before.

“I drew blood!” was all Dave cried, “I-fucking hell-drew blood! Game, set, match!” He was pushed backwards, and kept some distance between himself and Ridley, catching his breath.

“It’s to the yield, you moron,” was Ridley’s muffled reply, “I have to give up before you win.” 

“Oh that’s bullsh-“ but Dave couldn’t finish his gripe before Ridley was back on him, hitting and swinging with all the force of a thousand horses. The fight became more desperate, more scrambling, more animalistic. Just when things began to turn in Dave’s favour, a sharp pain in his foot distracted him. He glanced down to see Ridley’s stamped over his, and the sudden clarification that this asshole had literally stomped on his foot like this was a bar brawl was followed shortly by an (admittedly impressive) uppercut. Dave staggered backwards, which gave Ridley the window to get in a good slash to Dave’s left arm. A sympathetic ‘ooh’ rose up from the crowd, and blood started trickling down his sleeve, warm against his skin. The pain was unbearable for a split second, and then promptly ceased to exist. Adrenaline and various other hormones kept the pain at bay. Dave charged at him, cutting a wide circle, and Ridley matched him. Their swords locked in mid air, both sides pushing with what little strength remained in their bodies. 

“Yield,” Ridley said through what sounded like gritted teeth. Dave didn’t dignify that with a response. Ridley began to make some ground, and the locked blades inched slowly towards Dave’s face. 

“Yield!” Ridley said again, slightly louder. 

“No fucking chance,” Dave growled, and redirected his efforts. He pushed his sword in a way that twisted Ridley’s out of his hand, and Dave kicked it a little distance away. Ridley watched it jump over the uneven ground, giving Dave just enough time to position his sword uncomfortably close to Ridley’s throat. There was a long, tense pause. 

“I yield,” he said quietly. 

“What was that?” Dave asked sweetly, “I don’t think Lord Monteglio quite heard you.” 

“I yield!” Ridley said, a little louder. The crowd erupted into applause, and Ridley was escorted from the arena. Dave was ecstatic. He raised his bloody arm in victory, finding John in the crowd. He looked slightly worried, the cut, he reasoned, probably looked slightly worse than it was. But, with the thrill of battle wearing off, the sting returned to his arm, and he noticed that he’d bled quite a lot. An old man with a large messenger bag shuffled into the arena, giving Dave a once-over, mumbling sarcastically that Dave ‘would live’, and bandaging his arm in a clean strip of fabric. It hurt, quite a lot, but Dave decided to worry about that _after_ he’d won the tournament. Suddenly remembering, he turned and bent the knee to the Lord. Did one man really need all the bowing? Whatever. He’d find out for himself when he was a lord, Dave thought with glee. 

 

Jade once again trotted out into the arena, and kneeled before Lord Monteglio. He gestured for them both to rise, and they obediently did so. 

“Where are you from, Harley?” he asked. 

“Sburb, my lord, a small town about a week’s walk from here,” she said, her eyes respectfully lowered.

“And you, Strider?” 

“Sburb as well,” he said, and hastily tacked on a “My lord.” This seemed to amuse Monteglio, and he sat back in satisfaction. 

“What is it about Sburb that creates winning swordsmen?” he asked. The crowd laughed hesitantly. Was he meant to answer that, or…?

“Rise!” he said, his great voice cutting through the crowd, “Now, to the yield!” 

 

Dave turned to Jade. Jade turned to Dave. 

“Don’t worry, Harley,” Dave said with a grin, “I’ll go easy on you.” 

“Oh thanks, Dave!” Jade chirped sarcastically, “I was worried that loosing to an untrained, wounded, ugly blacksmith’s boy would really hurt my _professional fencing career!_ ”

“I’m not ugly, you’re ugly,” Dave said defensively. 

“Mature,” Jade noted sarcastically. 

“Get on with it!” someone from the crowd yelled. And so they did. Dave, deciding to attempt to get the upper hand early on, charged at her, cutting out in a wide arc. She easily countered it and lightly, teasingly scratched his shoulder. He tried again, with the same result. The third time, he managed to block her sword with his shield, which left him vulnerable to a blow from her, which he countered with his sword. They moved backwards and forwards in a strange, twisted sort of dance. Jade spun and turned a lot early on, moving out of range quickly, making Dave chase her, putting him on the offensive. He quickly tired, and realising what she was doing, tried to turn the tide to his favour. He started moving backwards, quickly having picked up whatever it was that she’d been doing. Lots of little scratches were handed out, small nicks on arms or sides or thighs. Barely enough to be considered dangerous, but enough to be severely annoying. Dave wasn’t sure if this was how Jade usually fought, with such playfulness and allowance for mistakes, or if it was just for old time’s sake. But as the fight wore on, Jade began to show signs of fatigue. Her arms drooped, and it seemed to take more and more effort to swing the sword, likely a side-effect of the too-heavy weapon. Dave, however, was also slowing down, the earlier injury and the toll of three consecutive sword fights beginning to drain him of his energy. He was tempted to call for a time out or something, but he felt like that wasn’t generally allowed in the rules. His first major victory came when he dealt an unusually harsh blow to Jade’s right forearm; the one that held the shield. Recoiling, she dropped it, stumbling backwards. Dave kicked it across the arena. However, this victory was short lived, with Jade doing exactly the same thing to Dave a scant five minutes later. And they were back to where they started. Still, neither of them yielded. 

 

Jade was becoming less and less cautious, swinging with more confidence. More force. Aiming higher. Aiming to maim. Jade hit Dave in the chest with enough force to dent the armour slightly. All Dave remembered thinking was that it would hurt like a bitch in the morning. She sliced huge gashes on his legs, on his arms, fighting with more and more ferocity. Meanwhile, Dave was struggling to land a single hit on her, his movements becoming sloppy from exhaustion and a menagerie of different wounds on his body. Soon, the fight dissolved into Jade lashing out, and Dave sluggishly dodging her blows. His arms felt too tired to counter it. But not once did he consider yielding. Jade swung out in a wild, powerful arc, landing a blow on the side of Dave’s helmet. Everything went black for a split second, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, his helmet sitting a small distance from him. Jade stood towering over him, looking at him like he’d sprouted an extra head. 

“Yield,” she panted, almost pleadingly. The arena was totally silent. Dave looked over her shoulders to see John looking worriedly at him. Dave’s grip on his sword tightened. He propped it up so it stood on end, and used it to pull himself to his feet. 

“Not gonna happen,” he said through a smirk. The crowd erupted into noise, people cheering, chanting, wordlessly screaming. Jade considered him a while, before shedding her own helmet, her black hair tossing and tumbling rather beautifully in the slight breeze. If possible the noise from the crowd doubled. His strength renewed by some unknown source, Dave charged at Jade at the same time she charged at him. They met in the middle of the arena, swords clanging and clashing faster and faster, louder and louder, until eventually their swords locked like they had the previous battle. Dave, now knowing how to twist the sword out of his opponent’s hands, tried to get the same effect, but Jade changed her grip in such a way that made it impossible to do. Dave was pushing against her with all his might, his arms screaming in agony. Suddenly, Jade twisted her sword, making Dave drop his. She was on it in a flash, holding both weapons to his throat. Dave looked for a way out, for a way to turn the tide in his favour, but he had no weapon, and not enough armour to protect him from a mouse. And so, there was only one thing to do. He raised his hands slightly, and shot John an apologetic look. 

“I yield,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

 

The crowd began cheering, and Jade dropped both swords. Dave felt slightly weak at the knees, and slumped onto Jade’s shoulder. She allowed it, awkwardly patting him on the back.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good,” he mumbled. She laughed a little. 

“Thanks! You’re surprisingly good too!”  Something to say to her, something important to tell her…

“You need a new sword, by the way,” he mumbled, “that one’s too heavy for you. Makes you tire out too soon, like some sort of old lady carrying a bag of shopping with too much shit in it.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked uncertainly, “I really like that sword…” 

“Which one of us spent most of their life making the fucking things?” Dave asked, tilting his head to look her in the eye, “Just trust me. You need a lighter sword.” That was all he managed to say to her before he was being escorted (or rather, half carried) from the arena. His head drooped from tiredness, and he let himself be dragged away. He distantly heard someone say something along the lines of ‘champion of the tourney’, but he wasn’t paying particularly close attention. 

 

The next thing he knew, someone was stripping him of his armour, and sliding his sword back into its sheath, handing him his glasses. The old man from before was asking him questions about how he felt, what was his head like, could he please cough for him, blah blah blah. Dave answered absently. God, he was tired. Disappointment and weariness seeped into his very bones. He just wanted to go back to the inn, lie in that insanely comfortable bed, and sleep for a week. Maybe then they could work out how to steel the sword off Jade. 

“He’ll live,” he heard the old man say to someone. He didn’t really care who. “Bruised ribs, not quite fractured. Some nasty cuts on his arms, and large slashes on his legs, so change the bandages now and then. Quite a nasty hit to the head, yes, probably a mild concussion of some kind, but nothing lasting. Just make sure he drinks lots of water and gets plenty of rest.”

“Alright. Thank you,” John said. Dave cracked open one eye. When did John get here? But there he was, listening solemnly to what the old man was telling him, nodding occasionally. After a while the old man shuffled out of the room, and John came over to sit on the uncomfortable bench with Dave. 

“Hey,” he beamed. 

“Sorry,” was all Dave could muster. 

“What for?” John sounded genuinely confused. 

“Lost the sword,” he grumbled. Thinking about it made him feel slightly ill, the failure settling hard in his stomach. John just snorted. 

“Dude, it’s not a problem.”

“But-“

“We’ll work out a plan B later. But first, you need a nap.” The next thing he knew, he was being hauled to his feet. John slung one of his arms around Dave’s waist for support (Dave was not particularly steady on his feet), and gently dragged him out of the room, across town, and back to the inn. John talked the whole time. 

“Oh man, Dave, you looked so _cool_ you have no idea! Especially with that third guy. What was his name? Ringo? Pringles? Besides the point, but you were like _fighting_ and _blood_ was pouring down your _arm_ and he was like ‘yield’ and you were all like ‘not today’ and just ripped the sword outta his hands! The girl next to me was going _nuts._ I swear if she swooned any harder she would’ve passed out. And even fighting Jade (how crazy is it that Jade’s here?) you were like spinning, and hitting, and-“ and so on, and so on. Dave half listened, paying more attention to keeping himself upright. Before he knew it, they were back at the inn. John dragged Dave up the stairs, unlocked the door, and deposited him on the bed. Dave flopped backwards with a grateful ‘yesssss’, enjoying the feeling of the soft mattress and fluffy pillows. It was a fucking relief, that bed. Something was tossed onto his face, something soft and light. 

“Dude, you’re like, sweaty and gross. At least put on a different shirt,” John said scoldingly. Dave groaned like a child. 

“We have to share that bed, you know! I’d like to sleep between clean sheets, but if you’d rather sleep on sweaty, bloody sheets, you can sleep on the floor,” John continued. Dave opened one eye, pulling the shirt off his face, to see John standing there with his arms crossed. It was kind of cute. 

“Alright, alright,” Dave said. It took a herculean effort to sit up, wriggle off his old shirt (John was right; it was disgusting) and pull on the new one. 

“Okay, the doctor guy said you needed water and rest,” John said, looking about the room, sounding slightly unsure, “so uh, here’s rest,” he gestured vaguely to the bed, “and I’ll go get water. And snoop around. And go talk to Jade.” Dave felt like complaining, or protesting, or making some shit up about how it was dangerous for him to wander around on his own, but he was too tired to do so. Instead, he burrowed under the wonderful, warm blanket, and dropped off to sleep with the sound of the door clicking shut behind John.

 

* * *

 

Dave had no idea how long his nap lasted for, but when he woke up John was sitting on a stool in the corner, fiddling with something. Dave attempted to sit up, but just about every muscle screamed in complaint, and so he collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan. John looked over, flashing him a smile. 

“Wha’ timesit?” Dave asked, his voice slurring together sleepily.

“Evening,” John answered, checking out the window, “How’re you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Dave grumbled, sitting up slowly.

“So what did we learn?” John asked, a shit eating smile on his face. Dave pretended to ponder the question a while. 

“That Jade became a total fuckin’ badass since she left?” he offered, lifting up his shirt to inspect the yellowing bruises on his ribs, “I mean seriously, did you see how fast she moved? God damn, if these bruises aren’t proof enough of that, I’m gonna have a whole mess of scars on my arms and legs-“

“That, and don’t enter a tourney if you’ve had literally no training!” John said, trying to be stern, but Dave could hear the giggle in his voice.

“I made it to the last round,” Dave said indignantly, pulling the bandage down to check on the slash that Ridley gave him. It was still bleeding slightly. Damn.

“You got your _ass handed to you_ in the last round,” John said, rolling his eyes, “and don’t mess with the bandages! They’re there for a reason.” 

“Yeah yeah, fuck off, mother hen,” Dave grumbled, looking over at him, “Besides, it was the best way to get that bullshit shadow sword. Now, we just have to go and steal it off Jade and-”

“Nope,” John said, grinning. Dave thought about this for a while, his eyes going wide behind his glasses.

“Did you steal it already?” Dave asked, feeling his mouth stretch into a grin, “Goddamn, John, I knew you were good at bartering, but I never thought-“ 

“No, I didn’t steal it,” John said, rolling his eyes, “Jade doesn’t have it.” It took him a while to process this. 

“What.” 

“The prize wasn’t actually a sword,” John said, trying not to laugh, “It was actually a, uh, _statue_ of a sword. Made out of bronze. Jade showed me, wasn’t that nice of her?” Dave flopped back against the headboard, rubbing at his face. He turned back to John incredulously. 

“Are you saying I got beat into a pulp because of a fucking _statue?_ ”

“Yep,” John said around a grin, “How does that feel?” Dave buried his face in his hands, and screamed into them out of frustration, loudly, for a long time. He could hear John’s maniacal laughter in the background. 

“Okay, I’m fine,” he said after a little while, “Does mean we’re back at square one.” 

“I do think it’s in the city,” he said, “Because who would doodle randomly on an ancient, priceless map?” Dave nodded, admitting that that seemed fair. He poured himself a glass of water, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. 

“To a shadow eternally bound…” John mumbled to himself, “Maybe it’s in the sewers? Archives? A temple? Somewhere with loads of shadows sounds right…ish…”

“We’ll go snooping tomorrow,” Dave said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Right now, let’s just get our breath back from that fucking crushing failure. Shit was like everything came crashing down so hard that the ground cracked and satan crawled out of hell, specifically to look us in the eye and say, ‘man, you fucked this up big time’.”

“Drama queen,” John laughed. Dave smirked slightly. 

“Yeah yeah, now can we get some dinner or something? I’m starved,” he grumbled, throwing back the blankets. 

“Dude, you look like you went ten rounds with a wall of spikes,” John said, standing up and going over to his bag, “If you go downstairs, you’ll scare the shit out of everyone.” 

“So you’d rather me starve?”

“I’d rather you stay the fuck in _bed._ ” John tossed some sausages and bread at him, which Dave artfully caught. 

“Damn, dinner in bed,” Dave said, admiring the quality of the smoked sausages, “you sure know how to treat a lady.” He sunk his teeth into one, ravenously devouring the food.

“Actually, you’re treating yourself,” John admitted, sitting down on his side of the bed, “I bought those with the money you won.” 

“I won prize money?” Dave asked, shocked. 

“Yeah. Like, ten gold pieces.”  

“I don’t remember that part.”

“I’m not surprised. You were pretty out of it by the time they handed you the coin purse. You just sort of passed it to me.”

 

Dave’s not sure exactly when they fell asleep, but fall asleep they did, curled up facing opposite directions, their backs pressed together.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, they divided up the tasks. John agreed to look around through the temples and through the archives. Dave, who was still a little worse for wear, agreed to wander through the sewers for the rest of the day. In the evening, they would meet back at the inn and come up with the rest of the plan there. As they split up, Dave felt a quiet sort of anxiety creep into his chest. When he thought about it, the most trouble they’d gotten into had been when they were separate; the swamp and the tourney had been near disasters. In a vicious counterpoint, things that ought to have gone terribly (fighting a fucking gorgon, for instance) had gone really rather well. Because they’d been together. Dave took a brief moment to consider just how gay that sounded, before turning on his heels and looking for a subtle entrance to the sewers. They’d be fine. It’s not like they were planning on beating the shit out of monsters, or battling some sort of evil lurking within the city walls. Knowing his luck, exactly that would happen though. 

 

Dave wandered through the streets, looking for an appropriately deserted corner to begin his decent into the sewage system. He eventually came across a street with nobody but an old lady sitting out on the corner. _Good enough_ , Dave thought, and pulled open the manhole, and staggered back from the smell. The lady gave him a quizzical look, but watched silently as he slowly descended the metal rungs into the sewers.

“Aren’t you the boy who nearly won the tourney yesterday?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. Dave considered it a while. 

“Nope,” he said eventually, continuing on his downwards path. 

“Handsome boy, that,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, “Very handsome. He could have all the ladies he liked.” Dave loudly ignored her. 

 

The sewer was dark and damp, and his foot falls made long, hollow echoes on the curved walls. He took a few cautious steps forward, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light, watching dust particles filter through the beams of sunshine cast by the holes in various other manhole covers. Dave tried not to breathe too deeply, the stench of the sewage system almost suffocating.  
“Just a day of wandering slowly through these,” Dave muttered to himself, “great.” He walked a long way, having very little success. He was struck suddenly by the enormity of the task of finding one _highly specific_ sword in a city that was likely full of them. And all they had to go on was that it was eternally bound to a shadow. Whatever that meant. As the day drew on, and Dave was still wandering through dark sewers, he became irritated, and then downright angry. 

“Cryptic fucking map,” he grumbled, kicking a loose bit of concrete, “leading us to a cryptic fucking treasure site, with a cryptic fucking clue, in a cryptic fucking city. Fuck it. Fuck it! I quit.” He turned to the side, reaching out for the iron staples in the side of the wall, right under one of the manholes. Still grumbling to himself, he climbed back up to the street, and pushed the manhole aside. He was too busy dusting himself down and muttering under his breath to notice where he’d come up. 

 

The room Dave was standing in was large, ornate, and completely empty. The floors were made from marble, and the ceiling was lined with gold. In one end of the room sat an ornate chair, elevated slightly by a platform. But Dave didn’t see any of that. All he heard was the sound of infantrymen’s feet on marble, and all he saw were five large, heavily armoured men charging at him. 

“Stop! In the name of the Lord!” one called, his voice so gravelly it was almost impossible to make out what he’d said. Dave did the only logical thing in this situation; he turned on his heels and went sprinting as fast as he could out the heavy double doors.

 

He burst into the sudden bright light of the outside world, not bothering trying to adjust to it as he went tearing down the street. A few people gave a surprised little noise as he ran passed them, which turned into a scream as they saw that he was being followed by who Dave assumed to be Lord Monteglio’s bodyguards. He jumped between people, scrambled over carts, artfully dodged people walking by, leading a donkey or horse or some other kind of hoofed mammal. The guard followed, yelling for him to stop, or that he was breaking the law, or some other kind of threat. He turned down an alley and, to his dismay, was followed. He turned out into another street, an empty one this time, only to find his way blocked by another group of men in armour, holding their swords threateningly. Dave drew his sword as the group following him caught up, encircling him. He nervously turned on the spot, trying to strategise a way out of this, trying to work out a way that got him off the hook. 

 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. It wasn’t looking good, and like _hell_ if he was getting arrested. He had better things to do with his time. One member of the guard stepped forward, his sword raised menacingly. 

“Dave!” someone cried in the distance, but he was too busy to notice it. Suddenly, the bodyguard went tumbling to the ground, as if knocked over by something. The man standing next to him fell over as well, and another and another, and soon they were all lying on the ground, dazed by the fall. 

 

At the end of the street, Dave caught sight of John, standing there with his arms straight out and palms splayed. 

“C’mon!” he yelled. Dave didn’t need telling twice, and took off down the street after John. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger trash queen, I know. This is also on Hiatus until December, most likely. I know. I'm awful.  
> Follow the official blog; www.tbatbs.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: In which Dave learns two very unpleasant things, and John faces an inconvenient truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this took FOREVER, and I'm sorry about that! We should be up to Chapter 7 by the end of January, and then there's ANOTHER hiatus....you're all such patient people! <3 Until then, have this, my simple peace offering....

John’s search had yielded nothing of much use. The only temples this strange city had were a few dreary, old-looking things, with no people visiting and nothing of much consequence on the shrines. No sword would be found here, not on the cold stone ground or the stained-glass shadows cast, no matter how hard John looked. He gave up eventually, deciding to turn to the dusty archives of the central government. 

 

The thought made him pallor. The archives were likely kept in a top secret facility, with the highest level of security that the city’s impressive budget could muster. Getting in would be difficult enough, never mind the struggle of wandering through the basement. Summoning all his courage, John quickly found the impressive looking city hall, a large building with huge white pillars and massive stone steps leading to an impressive looking set of double doors. He straightened his glasses self consciously, and pulled his shirt a little further down over his belly. With as much purpose as he could muster, John strode up the steps and quietly opened the massive oak door. 

 

Upon first entering the building, John thought he had made a mistake. He’d pictured a bustling floor of men and women in dark cloaks murmuring quietly to each other, hurrying from one important decision to the next across brightly lit corridors. Instead, he saw a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of mould, with two staircases curving upwards to a small balcony, behind which sat a few squat doors. The only other person in the room was a grouchy looking old man, bent low over a desk and scribbling something important. John puffed out his chest and walked as confidently as he could over to where the man sat. He leaned over the desk, only to see that the man had been idly doodling. John cleared his throat, trying not to wince at the way it echoed obnoxiously around the hall. The old man looked up in disinterest. 

“Yes?” he said, his voice as musty as the room. 

“Which way are the archives?” he said, ignoring the way his voice dropped a few keys in an attempt to add to his authority. The old man looked at him through the round glasses, peering up at John over an overly large nose. 

“The new biographer?” the man asked finally. 

“The what?” John blinked. The old man sighed, putting down his quill. 

“The Lord’s official biographer? Come to look through the archives for material for his new book?” he said, like he was speaking to a child. 

“Oh yes,” John said, nodding perhaps a little too enthusiastically, “the new biographer.” 

“Down the door,” the old man said, nodding to a small trap door embedded into the floor behind the desk that John hadn’t noticed before. He smiled gratefully before heading over and pulling the piece of wood with all his might. It allowed itself to be dragged away, revealing a highly suspicious looking set of wooden stairs. John trusted them about as far as he could throw them. 

“Not many people come down here, huh?” he asked, not to anyone in particular. 

“Only the biographers,” the old man agreed. He glanced at John over his shoulder. “Good luck. He’s been through eight already.” 

“What happened to them?” John asked casually, starting to make his decent into the darkness. 

“They wrote disagreeable things,” was the man’s cryptic response. It was enough to turn John’s blood cold anyway. 

 

He made it to the bottom of the stairs, surprisingly enough, without incident. The stairs creaked menacingly a few times, but aside from that nothing particularly dramatic happened. He took a few steps forward, and soon realised that aside from the large cone of light filtering through the dust from the top of the stairs, there was no light in this fobbing basement. He glanced around frugally, making sure he really was alone. 

“This is a terrible idea for so many reasons,” he muttered under his breath, before sliding his thumb sharply across his palm to try and start a spark. He got one almost instantly, and managed to kindle a tiny flame in the palm of his hand. 

 

He’d been practicing plenty over the last few weeks. He’d had to do his little fire-starting trick almost constantly, and by now he could usually get it in one. Impressively enough, he’d also managed to work out how to combine his influence over the air with his flint-like fingers to sustain a small flame independently. John was impressed with himself. He liked to think that MM was impressed too. 

 

John held his little candle light up to the small plaque set into the side of the shelf he was nearest to, and tried to stifle a groan. Apparently the documents here were from around two thousand years ago. There was a lot here to sift through.

“At least they’re thorough,” John muttered to himself, and started skimming. 

 

That afternoon was, without a doubt, the most frustrating afternoon John had ever spent. Probably even more trying than the afternoon he spent attempting to rescue what scraps he could of his dignity after he’d kissed the fisherman’s son (he quickly pushed the memory from his mind). Most of the documents were written in a dialect he barely understood, and a lot of the bits and pieces on offer were obviously not what he was looking for. His heart leapt whenever he saw something vaguely weapon-shaped, and then sank when it became obvious it was nowhere near what he was looking for. He went further and further away from the stairs, and deeper and deeper into the poorly designed archives. He gave up when he reached the edge of the filled shelves, staring despairingly into the empty cases that stretched on into the shadows. He was unlikely to find anything there. In a last ditch effort, he grabbed the only thing sitting on the farthest shelf, a huge, heavily bound book. Even in the dim lighting, John could tell that the cover was unnecessarily ornate, and the title said something about rulers. He flipped it open and idly thumbed through with the one hand, the other held aloft for light, scanning the names. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but he figured that since he had nothing better to do than hope Dave had been more successful than himself, he didn’t really have anything to loose. The last names were, unsurprisingly, more or less the same. There was a long sting of ‘Brathlem’s towards the beginning of the book, which abruptly turned into a short list of ‘Parana’s (presumably the result of a large war), which in turn eventually became a succession of ‘Carr’s. 

 

John’s eyebrows furrowed. That was odd. 

 

No Monteglios. Or was he reading it wrong? He looked over the pages again, this time more thoroughly. No mention of a Monteglio. In fact, all the names seemed to have the same stout sounding ‘a’ to them. Monteglio was a far more delicate name. And the city didn’t seem to be suffering any effects of a recent war. And didn’t that man say that the defences had been unbleached for hundreds of years? The more he thought, the less sense it made. The less sense it made, the more concerned he became. He looked up, staring off into mid distance, trying to force it to make sense (bad book keeping? Poor records? Dialect differences? Nothing made sense). He failed to notice the way the shadows cast by his dim light slowly converged in on another, sliding silently over the shelves to form a purer darkness, a more solid shape. He didn’t notice the pair of barely there eyes staring at him, a scant few centimetres away from his nose. And it was only when he heard the loud SLAM of a heavy book being shut, coupled with the excruciating pain of his hand getting caught between the suddenly tightly shut pages, that he noticed anything was wrong at all. 

 

He stifled a scream, trying and failing to extract his hand from between the hardback covers. It was then that he saw the shadowy fingers, stretching over the book towards his wrist. He tried to pull free, but the thing was holding the book shut with all its might. The shadows stretched up to meet his skin, and John couldn’t help but cry out in pain. It was as though his skin was boiling and bubbling where the gloom touched his pale flesh. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to wrench free, and finally caught sight of the eyes hovering in empty space. He let out a small breath. Those eyes, he recognised. They’d been described to him in every smallest detail by MM a thousand times. 

 

He decided that was enough archiving for one day, and made a mad dash towards the stairs. He scrambled up the rotting wood, and yanked himself up into the comparatively blinding light of the room. The door was pulled shut after him with a dull scraping sort of noise. The old man turned to look at him with a passing interest. 

“Find what you needed?” he asked. John just nodded, still struggling to catch his breath from where he sat on the ground. After a few long moments where he just willed his heart rate back down to a reasonable pace, before gathering his limbs and barrelling out the door as calmly as he could. He stood on the steps a while, allowing his eyes to adjust, before turning his thoughts to Dave. He had to find him, and quickly. He could already imagine how that conversation was going to go. _Hey Dave! So, pros: I found the sword! Cons: we have to slay a centuries old demon to get it…but hey! What could go wrong?_

 

_-_

 

John spent the better part of the day looking for Dave. He wandered through just about every street, becoming more and more panicked as the day drew on. Dave’d likely gotten himself arrested or something, or maybe he’d fallen down a particularly deep part of the sewer and drowned, or maybe his injuries were acting up and he’d sat down somewhere, or maybe he’d been kidnapped, or- 

 

The possibilities were endless. John retraced his steps again and again, and was about to give in and return to the inn (Despite sundown still being a few hours away), when he distantly heard the unmistakable sound of someone being chased down a busy street. John relaxed somewhat. It was unlikely to be anyone other than Dave. John picked up the pace, running through a few alleyways towards the sound of rearing donkeys and splintering carts. He got there just in time to catch the last glimpse of the unmistakable glinting of well polished armour. He cautiously ran after them, trying not to make a sound, watching someone far ahead slip through an alleyway, only to be followed by his pursuers. John continued down the main road, his heart sinking with the sound of more knights clanking along to join the fight. John kept himself hidden a while, and only snuck out again once he was sure that there were no more parties coming to join the fight. Dave had been completely circled by burly men in shining new armour, and yet still, _still,_ he had his sword drawn, ready to fight. It was almost funny. 

“Dave, you stubborn asshole,” John muttered under his breath. It was almost funny, because there was only one way this was ending, and that was with Dave filled with a dozen new holes. Dave was going to dash out of it though. One of the men stepped forward. _Only one ending_. 

“Dave!” John called, more warning than anything. _Only one ending_. If Dave heard him, he showed no signs of acknowledgement. He was focused on the man in front of him, sword raised in a challenge. _Only one ending_. 

 

Well, maybe not the one.

 

_Dave, you owe me BIG time for this one_ , John thought. He swallowed his pride, and any ideas of common sense, and stepped forward, splaying his hands. 

 

With it came a gale force wind, strong enough to bowl the three men standing closest to him to the ground instantly, with the rest of them following. Dave glanced around nervously, before finally meeting John’s eye. The confusion on his face was almost funny. Almost being the operative word there. 

“C’mon!” John yelled. They mutually agreed that the time for explaining was at some point in the distant future. Dave took off tearing down the road, and John turned on his heels and ran. 

 

There was something very oddly _right_ about the whole scenario. Despite the fact that John now had to reveal his most dangerous secret, and that they were in the same city as a demon so powerful it could alter the minds of thousands of people at once, and they were fleeing from armed guards, John felt like he was right where he should be. Which was stupid, because right now there was a very real chance of death bearing down upon them. The chance of death that Dave had single handedly managed to wrought. John decided to yell at him about this later.

“How many?” Dave panted. He was moving slightly oddly, slightly off balance. John figuredit was because of old wounds, and hoped that it wasn’t because of new ones. He decided to yell at Dave about that again, too. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder, and let out a small exhale of relief. 

“Just ten,” he said, grinning. Dave gawped. 

“ _Just_ ten?” he repeated incredulously. John nodded, hoping to get across the ‘trust me on this’ sentiment he was trying to, and grabbed ahold of Dave’s hand.

 

Now, in theory, he ought to be able to give himself a bit of a boost using the wind, and ( _in theory)_ this would also apply to Dave if he held onto him tightly enough. Yeah. That sounded solid. It had to sound solid, because there wasn’t any time to think of something more likely to. Y’know. Work. Barely thinking now, just going through the motions, he turned sharply, dragging Dave with him, towards a small tower of crates. 

“On three,” he said, hoping he was making sense, “one, two, three!” John jumped, Dave jumped, and they went tumbling wildly onto a low rooftop. John assumed, as he lay eagle spread next to a sputtering Dave, that he’d given them a little too big a boost. _Ah well_ , John said, sitting up and examining the damage, _it could have gone worse._

 

Dave was obviously in complete disagreement. 

“What the fuck?” he said, gasping for breath and struggling to get upright, “what the…fucking…shit? Fuck, what?” John opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by the distinct sound of around ten men trying to clamber up on the roof after them. 

“Later,” was all John gave by way of an explanation. He grabbed Dave’s hand again, yanked him to his feet, and strung him along. This seemed to satisfy Dave, who was willing to get back into the chaotic rhythm of the chase. 

“One, two, three!” John called, hoping Dave would keep up, and they leapt off the edge of one roof, onto another. They landed awkwardly on their chests, but managed to scramble to their feet and keep up the chase. Holding hands was really impeding the whole running motion, but John was not prepared to let go. 

“One, two three!” and they landed on another roof, this time with significantly more grace. Dave seemed to notice for the first time that they were climbing, steadily gaining altitude, and were starting to draw attention to themselves. This was a side effect of the plan that John had not considered. 

“Are we actually going anywhere?” Dave asked, his voice tinged with just the barest bit of panic. 

“Uh,” John said eloquently, slowing slightly to check behind them. They’d managed to leave most of the guards behind. Now, they just had to get out of sight. “Down?” 

“John,” Dave warned. 

“Trust me, alright? We’ll be fine,” John said, as they gained more height. 

“John,” Dave warned slightly louder. John turned to grin up at him convincingly, as they slowed to a stop. The street below them was quiet enough, he decided. 

“Have I ever led you astray?” John asked. Before Dave could answer, they were falling. They were falling an impressive distance, actually, and John only remembered two distinct thoughts. The first was ‘ _Dave’s really got a death grip on my neck_ ’, and the second was ‘ _Man, I hope this works._ ’

 

-

 

Luckily for both of them, John’s half baked, vague plan to create a ‘cushion of air or something I guess’ did work, and they lived to walk back silently to the inn. Neither of them said a word; John too busy making sure they weren’t about to happen on a patrol of armed guards, and Dave presumably too completely shellshocked by everything to have much to say just yet. They managed their way back to the inn without incident, and they sat for a moment on their shared bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder silently. They both broke it at the same time. 

“Dave I-“ 

“What the fuck-“ They stared at each other a moment, before bursting into mildly hysterical giggles. The sun was starting to set, and the room had taken on an orange-y glow. 

“What happened to your arm?” Dave asked finally. John looked confused for a moment before remembering. He glanced down to see the thick, white, leathery skin in a strange curving pattern on his arm.The skin got more and more red towards the hand, which was purple and bruised. John flexed his fingers, satisfied that nothing was broken

“Oh, it’s kind of a long and complicated story, just let me-“ he started, but Dave was having none of it. 

“Jesus Christ, Egbert,” he said, genuine concern beginning to colour his words, “you shoulda said something earlier. Like, shit. It’s practically an asinine, uncooperative donkey, all up here breaking ribs with the way it’s doing grievous bodily harm.” Whilst John was trying to process this simile, Dave gingerly took his forearm, inspecting it carefully.

“Right, like you would know,” John said, trying to lighten the mood. It sort of made his eyes prick to think about how worried Dave seemed. 

“Dude, I’ve spent a solid 75% of my life working with temperatures high enough to shape metal,” Dave said, more than a little annoyed, “I know burns. How old is this already?” 

“Only a few hours!” John said defensively. Part of him wanted to pull his arm away from Dave’s touch, but it was surprisingly calming. Really soothing. His calloused fingertips possessed a tenderness that John hadn’t guessed was there. “Why are you so worked up about this?”

“Oh, a few hours. Is that all? Fucking- Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Dave said, and without another word he was on his feet and out the door. John blinked after him, at a loss for words. 

 

Dave did return, and quickly. He couldn’t have been gone for more than fifteen minutes before he was kicking the door back down, with a jug of water and a small pouch of something. He shut the door behind him, and sat back down on the bed. 

“Gimmie your arm,” Dave said, starting with the knot on the string that kept the bag shut. As soon as he opened it, a smell filled the room which John could only describe as ‘cold’, or maybe ‘disgusting’. 

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, recoiling. 

“Good for you, now gimme your arm,” Dave said, grabbing ahold of John’s arm firmly (but not unkindly), and pouring the water over the weirdly textured skin. John flinched. He’d mostly forgotten the pain, but the water brought it back in full force. 

“Dave, ow!” 

“Shuddup,” Dave said, reaching into the pouch and pulling out a strange kind of ointment and smearing it on John’s skin. The relief was almost instant, and John let out a small breath. 

“Where’d you get this?” John asked, letting Dave continue to rub the ointment into his skin. 

“Physicians’,” Dave answered shortly, “I was like, ‘hey, dude, I need something to treat a real sick nasty burn’ and he was like ‘aw man, who did you insult’, and I was all -stop moving, John, this is serious- I was all ‘nah man, my brother-from-another-mother just managed to do something real motherfucking stupid and now his skin’s like a lizards or some shit’ and he was all ‘leaches?’ and I was all ‘uh, do you have something else?’ and he was just like ‘leaches??’ and I was all ‘just gimme some ointment or some shit’ and he was all-“

“Leaches?” John offered helpfully through his giggles. 

“Man, John, are you psychic or something?” Dave grinned, “because that is exactly, word for word, what he said!” John laughed, Dave let himself chuckle a little, and things felt normal. Except…

“Listen man,” John said, after they’d calmed down a little, “I have something important to tell you.” 

“Yeah? Is it that you’re a mind reader?” Dave asked, looking for the easy banter they’d had earlier.  
“It’s kinda serious, Dave,” John said morosely. Dave sobered up. 

“Spill the beans, Egbert,” Dave shrugged, but John could tell that he was seven kinds of nervous. 

“It’s uh, probably easier to just show you actually,” John shifted on the bed so he was facing Dave more squarely, and held out his hands. Dave watched closely. 

“Don’t freak out,” John said. 

“Not freaking out,” Dave replied. John sighed. This was stupidly dangerous. But he had a right to know. Dave had a right to know. John slid one thumb across the palm of his other hand, and lo and behold. There was a tiny little candle flame flickering a few centimetres above his palm. John let it die, and carefully examined Dave’s face. 

“Dave?” John asked nervously. Dave’s expression was completely unreadable. It was totally blank, and carefully so. John couldn’t see his eyes, but he assumed Dave was just staring off into space, not paying much of a mind as to what he’d just witnessed, instead choosing to focus on some small detail in the wall behind him. And then he started to laugh. It was a small thing at first, just barely the rise and fall of his shoulders. But it started to escalate, getting louder and louder, until he’d flopped back on the bed with the force of his hysterical laughter. Dave took off his tinted glasses to wipe at the hysterical tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. John just looked on, concerned. _I was expecting a lot of reactions,_ John thought, _but not this._

“Dave?” John asked again, once he’d calmed down slightly. 

“I’m on a hunt for buried treasure with a gay witch,” Dave said, simply. Apparently saying the thought aloud was enough to set him off again, and he laughed long and loud and beautiful. John tried to laugh along with him, giggling uncertainly. It took him a while to calm down, but he eventually did, sitting up slowly and wiping the residual tears away from his face. 

“I mean, there are places you expect your life to go, and then there’s this,” Dave said. John snorted. They slipped into an uncomfortable silence. 

 

It stretched on for a long time, oppressive and uncomfortable, volumes left unspoken between them. John hardly dared look at Dave, but he didn’t think it’d make much of a difference anyway. John realised with a sinking feeling that he’d just put Dave’s life in considerable danger. The only way Dave got out of this with no strings attached was by turning John into the city guard, upon when he would be killed. 

 

_That would be a shitty way to end this adventure_ , John thought dryly. 

 

“I’m coming back,” Dave said, his voice passive, before slowly getting to his feet, returning his shades to his face and leaving the room. John watched him go, staring blankly at the door long after the sun slunk guiltily below the horizon, and the room was bathed in a cool night. 

 

-

 

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but John woke up a little while later to Dave clumsily shaking his shoulder. 

“John, Johnny John, John wake up.” The words blurred together in an oddly endearing sort of way. John blinked awake, struggling upright. The room was very dark, and he could just barely make out the shape of Dave a few inches in front of him. He flinched slightly, memories of the archive still fresh in his mind (but not on his skin, he noted. That salve really had done wonders). 

“Dave?” he said quietly, “is there something wrong?” 

“No,” Dave sang, and started struggling out of his shirt. John sniffed the air a little more carefully. The stale smell of alcohol hung around Dave’s words like smoke.

“Have you been drinking?” John asked incredulously. The whole time Dave had just been downstairs? There was a long silence. 

“No,” was Dave’s slow response. John laughed a little, before remembering himself and sobering up. 

“Did you uh, think about it?” John asked, shooting for ‘casual’ but landing somewhere in the zone of ‘concerned’. 

“Think on what?” Dave asked, loudly kicking off his shoes and collapsing lengthways onto the bed across John’s legs.  
“Y’know,” John said, not sure about what sort of tone would be appropriate right now, “the fact you’re halfway across the country with a gay witch?” The silence that followed the joke was almost worrying, and would have been deeply unsettling if it hadn’t been broken by a small snore coming off Dave. John rolled his eyes. John sighed. They’d talk in the morning, he assumed, about everything. Still, it was bloody inconvenient. 

“Dave, you’re the worst,” he grumbled, attempting to shift Dave’s weight off his legs so he could actually lie down. Dave would not be deterred, and clung to John’s legs a little tighter in his sleep. Giving up on moving Dave, he pushed himself over awkwardly, so he was lying in an extremely uncomfortable position. He wriggled slightly, into a position that didn’t bend his spine in terrible ways, and tried to drift off. He assumed it would be frustratingly difficult, with the mixtures of fear and guilt and doubt cascading through his system, but it was surprisingly easy. Something about the pressure of the death grip on his legs was oddly comforting. John contemplated getting up and opening a window to allow some of the rapidly cooling air into the room (it was becoming a little stifling) when he slowly dropped off to sleep.

 

-

 

“Oh my fucking God.”

The extremely grumpy grumble was what dragged John out of his sleep. Something was extracting itself from around his legs, and it was then that he noticed he could not feel anything below his calves. for the lack of blood flowing there in the night. 

“Never let me drink that much again, Egbert,” Dave muttered, from slightly further away. His voice was carefully quiet though, as if he was afraid of waking him up. John kept his breathing even, floating between being awake and staying asleep. There was a long silence. In, out. 

“Short-ass, hella gay witch,” Dave mumbled, and John heard the tremble that said he was on the edge of laughter, “You’re really testing my morals, huh?” John’s heart sunk. In, out, he remained ‘asleep’. The mattress dipped next to him, a body lying parallel to John’s sliding in. 

“Witch. That one’s going to take some getting used to,” Dave mumbled, his voice soft and close. In, out. Suddenly, there was a gentle touch on his forehead, and some stray stands of hair were carefully brushed off his face. Despite the tenderness of the touch, it startled him a little, and he fought to keep up his appearance of being fast asleep. In, out. John’s heart raced, but he couldn’t say why. It was probably time for him to wake up. John stirred a little, and Dave retracted the hand. The mattress moved again, and the dip moved further away. John blinked awake to a blurry sight of Dave, flat on his back, scrubbing at his face. 

“G’morning, sunshine,” John mumbled, grinning. He quickly schooled his expression into something more appropriately serious. Dave just groaned in response. 

“Alcohol is my enemy,” he grumbled, “Like, shit, it’s practically that preacher from back home on fucking cocaine or something, considering how much it wants me to suffer right now.” John let out a quiet, almost there chuckle. 

“So uh…” John started, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what happened next. 

“Y’know what,” Dave started, almost haltingly, “I’ve done a lot of thinking about…this. I mean, let’s review the key, well, the key elements of your average John. One: he’s a tiny lil man with legs so short it’s a wonder they get him anywhere at all-“ 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t interrupt me, John, I’m making a point. Right, where was I?” 

“Two, Dave.” It was almost like nothing had changed. 

“Yeah, of course. Two: He’s constantly thirsting after that sweet sweet man-dick-“ here, John had the good sense to turn approximately the colour of a tomato, “-not that there’s anything wrong with that, aside from the inherent annoyance of having to stop and stare every time an attractive man makes an entrance. Like seriously, John, have a little bit of tact.” 

“I don’t stop and stare every time we see an attractive man!” 

“John, stop interrupting me, seriously man. I’m making a point. Three, as we all know, John has magic coming out of his ears. Okay. So one: he’s tiny. Two: he’s gay, and three, he’s a little bit of a witch. Those are his obvious, let’s say, social shortcomings.” John looked away, not sure where this was going. _Shortcomings_. He wasn’t sure he liked it. 

“And then you have the other stuff like saving people’s lives and looking after people when they do something stupid and his general sunshine-y-ness.” _That was…good, right? People like sunshine._

“But for now, let’s just focus in on his less-than-desirable traits. Despite these traits being outweighed by all his good traits, but there are-“

“Dave,” John said finally, forcing himself to look. Dave was pointedly looking at the ceiling, a blush creeping onto his face. John smiled sympathetically. 

“Try again,” he said quietly. Dave let out a sigh. 

“Look, man, I’m not good with words. But out of those three things, I’m most bothered by the fact you’re shorter than a ten-year old. 

 

It took a little while to sink in. John felt a wide grin creeping over his face. Part of him wanted to cry, but a larger part of him wanted to go back to the easy joking they’d had before. 

“Awww!” he cooed, “Dave’s all attached to me! How sweet!” 

“Shuddup,” Dave mumbled. John widened his face in mock shock. 

“Golly Gosh! Could it be possible that Dave has feelings after all?” 

“I take it all back, I hate you like I hated-”

“C’mere, Dave! We hafta hug for _at least_ 45 minutes before we do anything else!” John opened his arms, and advanced on where Dave was sitting on the bed. 

“No, don’t touch me, you’ll pass on the short. John. John!” But it was too late. John had flung himself at Dave, wrapped his arms securely around his middle, and sent them both toppling over the foot of the bed. John laughed the whole way down, and he could feel Dave shaking with a silent laugh. It died down after a brief time, but they stayed there. Dave hesitantly moved his hand to ruffle John’s hair, and let it trail down to the small of John’s back, where it rested, strong and warm. 

“Thanks, Dave,” John croaked out after a little while, “it uh, it means a lot to me.” 

“No worried,” Dave replied. John pushed himself up, grinning, and nudged his slipping glasses slightly further up his nose. Dave gave him a lopsided smile back.

“C’mon. Gerroff,” he started pushing at John’s shoulders to get him off, and just like that the moment was over. John got up, and offered a hand to pull Dave up after him. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, we have more pressing matters to attend to,” John said, sitting back down in the bed. Dave sat across the small room, in the small chair. It looked even smaller under Dave’s tall, spindly figure. 

“Look, the good news is I found the sword, but-“ John didn’t get any further. Dave leapt to his feet. 

“What? Dude, what are we standing around here for? Let’s go!” 

“Let me finish, Dave, c’mon,” John said, huffing a sigh. Dave grumbled, but he sat back down obediently. 

“Okay, I found the sword,” John took a deep breath in, “Sort of.” 

“What the fuck do you mean ‘sort of’?” Dave asked slowly, incredulously.

“Lemme finish! Jeez, you have the attention span of a puppy!” He took another breath, trying to work out how to explain this.

 

“Okay. So, when I was littler, and Dad had to go out to the market or whatever-don’t look at me like that Dave, this is going somewhere- anyway, I got left with MM. And he told me all sorts of stories, most of which I don’t remember, but there was one that sticks out in my mind. It’s about this, uh, demon, I guess you’d call it. It’s basically a shapeshifter, and it can take the shape of anyone it chooses. And it can change folks’ memories ’n stuff. So normally what it does is it goes to a country, takes shape of a King, kills the king already there, and makes everyone think it was the king in the first place.” He stopped, biting his bottom lip. Dave was looking at him with a mixture of distrust and disbelief. “Here’s the kicker though. They’re called the Shadow walkers, ‘cause when they’re not taking the shape of anyone they’re just shadows. Humanoid shadows. And apparently, when you kill it, it leaves behind a sword. _A sword to a shadow permanently bound.”_

“Okay, convenient, what does that have to do with our situation?” Dave asked, his voice devoid of any emotion. 

“Well, I was looking through the archives. And there was no Monteglio mentioned in any of the records-“ John got chills just thinking about it. He held up his hand, the one covered in strange burn marks “-And the shadow things? When they touch you, it burns like hell.” 

 

Dave leaned back in his seat, letting out a long sigh. 

“Shit,” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” John agreed. 

“So what do we do about that?” 

“We hafta kill it, Dave! It’s gonna hurt people, and then that’s on our heads! Plus, I’m pretty sure that this is what the riddle meant!”

“Alright, so how do we kill it?” There was a pause. 

“I don’t know.” 

“How do we _fight_ a shadow?” Dave offered. John thought. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Real great plan you’ve got there, John,” Dave huffed. 

“Well, it’s basically an absence of light, right? That’s what a shadow is, so maybe if we just….trap it in a room, and flood the room with light…that might work?”

“So, all we hafta do is break into the bed chamber of the ruling power of this ‘lil old city, somehow sneak in with a bunch of lit torches, lock the door so he can’t escape, and bam. He’s dead?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know! But uh, we wouldn’t need to bring in _lit_ torches, so that makes it a little easier, I guess?” John said, shrugging uncertainly. 

“What do you mean? It’s not like we’re just gonna bea-oh,” Dave stopped in his tracks, John could almost see his eyes squinting. 

“Wait,” Dave said slowly, “That’s how you started all the fires, isn’t it?” John just grinned. 

“You asshole!” Dave cried, and John laughed, loud and long, “Here I was thinking you were fucking incredibly skilled at starting fires! And that first day, when you were doing the roof hopping? When we were fighting over the map?” John just grinned, and Dave threw his hands in the air, cursing loudly. 

“I fucking hate you,” he grumbled. 

“Sure, big guy. Now c’mon. I’m starved!” 

 

-

 

“This might be more difficult than I’d planned for,” John said, worrying at his bottom lip. They were standing outside the Palace, where the Lord lived. It was enormous. The walks were painted a cheerful pale yellow, and the windows were huge and airy. Pillars of some dark stone held up the overhanging roof covering an impressive set of stairs. 

“Okay so the main audience room, is just through there,” Dave said, pointing at the enormous bronze doors. 

“How do you know?” John asked skeptically. 

“Why do you think I was being chased by ten burly members of the royal guard?” 

“Touché.” 

“Anyway, I don’t think that we’re going to be able to get in through there. Feels a little too risky.” 

“Well, we’re never gonna figure out which of these is the thing’s bedroom,” John sighed. 

“So we might as well just sneak in through any old second story window and work it out from there!” Dave gestured vaguely to the windows, clearly bored with this conversation already. He attracted more than a few curious stares.

“How the hell are we going to get up there, Dave?” John hissed, trying to bring the discussion back to a normal level, “It’s ten feet up in the air, and we have to climb in stealthily!”

“Can’t you, I dunno, m-“ Dave started, but caught John’s death glare, and shut up with the clack of his teeth hitting each other. Getting down from building subtly was one thing. Lighting torches was one thing. Jumping two people ten feet in the air in the middle of a crowded square was entirely another. Also, Dave was still talking rather loudly, and it was still punishable by death to be magic. 

“Right, so…” Dave started, puffing out his cheeks, 

“We’re back at square one,” John finished. They both thought a while. 

“Sewer system?” John offered. 

“Dumb luck,” Dave replied. There was another long silence. 

“Kitchen?” John offered. Wordlessly, they tramped around the back of the building, and observed the kitchen entrance. 

“Three guards,” John muttered, turning to Dave, “How many could you take?”

“Five,” Dave muttered back.

“No shit?” John cried, feeling a relieved grin creeping over his face, “then Kitchen it is!” 

“No, John, _five_ ,” Dave said, pointing at the balcony that hung over the kitchen door. Two guards with crossbows sat about idly, one was smoking whilst the other picked at a thread on his sleeve. Innocuous enough, but the dangerous weapons glinted menacingly in the cool sunshine none the less. 

“Can’t you, y’know,” Dave offered, trailing off tactfully. 

“Nope,” John replied instantly, “they’d remember it too vividly. I’d be dead by dawn.” Dave clicks his teeth. 

“Damn,” he mumbled back. They wordlessly trudged back to the front of the building. 

“Security’s tight,” Dave noted, puffing out his cheeks, “I can’t think of anyone else who’d put so many guards by the fucking _kitchen_.” John nodded absently, when a horrifying thought struck him. 

“Dave, you don’t think…” John offered, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Dave just angled his face so that he was able to fix John with what he assumed was a quizzical glance. 

“I mean, he saw me,” John continued weakly, “and he knows I know what he is…” Dave huffed a snort.

“Dude, don’t flatter yourself,” he said, throwing an arm amiably around John’s shoulders, “You’re not _that_ important.” John tried to ignore the way Dave’s hand shook ever so slightly.

 

-

 

At the end of the day, they returned to their bare room after choking down some description of dinner, and collapsed down on their bed. 

“Well that was a waste of time,” Dave said after a small while. 

“Yeah, but we hafta get him alone,” John replied, “We need his sword.” 

“Do you think if we just walked up to him and asked politely he’d give it to us, no questions asked?” Dave offered hopefully. 

“Sure!” John chirped sarcastically, “Why didn’t I think of that? I’m sure he’ll give us sweets as well!” They both let out a breathy little laugh. John sat up, running a hand through his hair. It was only then that he noticed the small, delicate envelope that sat on the bedside table. 

“What’s that?” John asked, pointing at it. 

“My dick,” Dave grumbled back, not paying any attention in the slightest. John ignored him, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the envelope. On the front, in flowery, ornate letters read “ _To Jonathan Egbert, First of his Name_ ”. 

“What is it?” Dave asked, sounding only mildly interested. John continued to ignore him, opening the letter and pulling out the letter. It was written on hand-painted stationary. There were flowers drawn along the edge of the paper. 

“To Jonathan Egbert,” John read out, quietly.

“Aw sick, you got a letter?” Dave asked, still joking. John was slowly becoming more horrified. 

“His honourable Lordship, Marcus Monteglio, the Third of his name, formally requests your audience at his residence this evening, at exactly 8:00 pm sharp,” John read out, “Please come alone.” Just below was an ornate signature, filled with unnecessary curls and spirals.

“Shit,” Dave groaned, “how does he even know your name?”

“He’s an…ancient demon. And you’re worried about how he knows my name?” John asked weakly, still staring at the words on the page. This was shortly followed by the creaking of the mattress, and Dave’s shadow appearing by John’s shoulder, and the letter being ripped from his hands. 

“Well,” John croaked out, his mouth still uncomfortably dry, “I suppose this is one way to get him in a room alone?”

“No way,” Dave said instantly, “that’s hella fucking dumb, John.” 

“Well, do you have a better idea?” John asked, turning aggressively to Dave. He then became aware of how close they were standing (if he’d looked up, their noses would have probably touched), and took a few small shuffles backwards. Dave exhaled heavily through his nose. 

“Okay,” he grumbled, “but I don’t like it.” 

“Well, that makes two of us!” John joked lamely, lightly punching Dave on his shoulder, “Now, I have to come alone, or else I’ll probably get, y’know, killed.” 

“You can’t fight that alone, man,” Dave said, and now he just sounded exasperated, “what is it with you and your stupid self sacrificing tendencies?” 

“Like you’re one to talk!” John all but yelled back. 

“You- Whatever,” Dave said, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses, “We can have this fucking conversation later. The point stands, you can’t fight it alone.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Dave, c’mon,” John said, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, “Give me some credit.” He probably looked like a child. He was feeling pretty childish.

“So what _was_ your plan, smart guy?” Dave replied like he was scolding John. It was starting to piss him off a little. 

“You can wait outside, hear what’s going on, when things get loud, you just kick down the door and come swooping to my aid,” John said curtly. This was followed with a long silence. Dave just moved his mouth a little, like a gasping fish. 

“That is not a bad plan,” he said eventually. 

“See, have a little faith,” John huffed, sitting himself down on the bed, “I’m not sure why you’re so worked up over this.” 

“What, I’m not allowed to be worried about you?” Dave replied, sitting down next to him. The sentiment did funny things to John’s heart, and his chest tightened in a way that wasn’t all together unpleasant. He was still getting used to the idea that another boy of his own age could care that much. Their knees knocked against one another, and the simple, quick contact sent electricity through his leg. John wanted to say ‘thank you’ but instead managed a somewhat strangled stumble over a sarcastic comment. 

“You don’t _need_ to be. Not with these guns,” John flexed his “muscles”, rolling his sleeves up a little. They just slipped back down. 

“Huh,” John said, observing the sleeve, “normally it fits a lot snug-er.” 

“Yeah, well, you’ve lost a little bit of weight, Egbert,” Dave said, pinching at John’s stomach rolls. John slapped his hand away. 

“No, I haven’t!” he said defensively. 

“Just a little,” Dave replied, “Just around your arms and the middle of you. Not a whole lot. I mean, shit’s practically a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl in a whorehouse, the way you can overlook it.” John lifted up his shirt, and noticed Dave was right. It was barely noticeable, but his belly rolls were slightly less pronounced. It disheartened him, weirdly enough. He’d always enjoyed being a little bit chubby, and it forced him to realise that one way or another, he was coming out of this adventure a different man. He briefly wondered what other ways he’d changed already when Dave’s voice startled him out of his introspection. 

“When is eight o’clock?” Dave asked. It was then that the church bell decided to toll. 

“Now,” John said mildly. Dave nodded, before scrambling to his feet, grabbing his sword, snatching the key, and slamming the door open. John briefly considered getting changed, but he figured he wasn’t actually meeting royalty. Why bother standing on ceremony at this point? He went tearing down the hallway after Dave. 

 

—

 

They reached the Lord’s palace in record time, sweaty and panting in the cool evening air. John took a moment to get his breath back, dusting down the front of his shirt. 

“Ready?” Dave asked breathlessly. John just nodded back. 

“We’ve had this plan for all of five minutes, what could go wrong?” he said with a forced smile. John took a deep breath, and made his way up the massive marble stairs. He stopped in front of the big doors, unsure of what to do now he was here. He glanced down at Dave, but he’d tactfully moved to the other side of the street. He shrugged a little to himself before reaching up and knocking as boldly as he could manage. A moment passed and eventually the huge doors swung open. John stood squinting in the dim light a while, before he hesitantly walked into the audience chamber. The doors swung shut behind him with a heavy thud. John glanced over his shoulder, to look for the guards who had opened the door, but there was nobody there. 

“Oh, Johnny, by now you must have worked out I don’t _really_ need those guards.” The voice was like velvet. The voice was like a knife. John couldn’t decide which. 

“Well,” he pushed his glasses, “I thought maybe you’d want to keep up appearances.” The shadows coalesced before his eyes, forming that same humanoid shape. John forced himself to make ‘eye contact’, and shuddered to see that the things eyes were little more than bright, empty rings approximately where it’s eyes should be. 

“Come come, Mister Egbert, I think we know each other well enough by now that we wouldn’t have to do that.” The form disappeared, and then reappeared in the ornate chair in the middle of the dark room. He sat in the chair languidly, his back to one arm and his legs draped over the other. 

“Now, Johnny Johnny Johnny, let’s get down to business,” he said. John nodded, hesitantly moving closer.

“I know that you know I’m not where I should be,” he said, sighing wistfully.

“And I know that you know that I know you’re not going to let me out of this room alive,” John supplied. The thing grinned, wide and toothy, a million razor sharp teeth filling a mouth that was hardly there at all.

“You’re fast on your feet,” he said, sitting up more properly, “I like that. But I’ve somewhat changed my mind.” The shadows dissipated, and reformed much closer to John. He didn’t like this, but he refused to move. Or was it that he _couldn’t_ move? He wasn’t terribly sure. 

“I’m going to make you an offer,” the thing said slowly, “You and your little friend leave forever, let me be here, and I’ll let you live.” 

“And what do you do?” John asked, keeping his voice as clinical as he could.

“Well, stay here,” he drawled, spreading his hands and gesturing to the huge room. He took a few steps backwards, “tax the city into poverty and rule the ensuing chaos. Nobody will get _hurt_.”

“And how many more biographers’ll die?” John asked, casual as you like, “People will find out eventually, you know. Will people get hurt then?” The thing stiffened, but relaxed again, moving itself into John’s space. The grin was back, and John struggled not to throw up. 

“Just take the deal, kid,” he purred, and John was unnerved to the umpteenth degree, “I’ll even throw something else into the mix, and we’ll _all_ part as unlikely friends.”

“Something else like what?” John asked, unable to satiate his curiosity. 

“I can alter minds, you remember, Johnny,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I could make Dave think you two were, well, _more.”_ For a brief moment, a fraction of a second, the idea was tempting enough to make him change his mind. But it was wrong, wrong in a million ways, and John didn’t want it. He didn’t want that with Dave. Not Dave. ( _You keep telling yourself that_ he thought). John let out a heavy sigh. 

“It’s not like that,” he said, as strongly as he dared. 

“No?” it asked, sounding mildly surprised, “well how about those dreams you have? Wouldn’t you like an explanation?” John felt the conversation coming to a halt, and used this to distract himself from the temptation. He clasped his hands in front of him, ready to light a fire. He shook his head meekly. 

“Nothing?” the thing asked, leaning in closer ( _don’t move don’t move don’t move)_ to inspect John more carefully. The circles grew minutely, and then shrunk again _._

“What a shame,” it tutted, and screeched loud and horrible, lunging for John. John slid his thumb over his palm, sending a small shower of sparks up at the thing, and it reeled backwards, clutching its chin.

 

John took this window to dash away, but the room was totally bare. The thing was still preoccupied with the damage done to it, which meant that the light thing had decided to work for them. All they needed to do now was fill the room with light, whilst not getting killed by the vicious creature filled with fury. John caught sight of the massive chandelier above him, and blearily thought ‘two birds, one stone’. He pushed himself up, leaping about twenty feet into the air and grabbing onto the ornament. It swung wildly, but John didn’t have the time to let it calm down. He clicked his fingers at the small oil lamp, where a flame immediately sprung forth. The it flickered to light. John kept going, but had only managed ten or so before he met his next problem. The thing had materialised next to him on the hanging decoration, and slashed at John wildly. He was grazed, slightly, and the burning caused him to flinch back. It grabbed ahold of the thick chain keeping the light in the air, and began ripping it apart, the links groaning in protest before finally surrendering and shattering. 

 

The whole rig went down in a symphony of noise. First, there were the tinkling of bits of chain. Next came the splintering and cracking of the wood as it hit the floor, followed by the hollow sound of the iron supports clattering to the floor, and the shattering of glass. After all that had died away, there was John, groaning and moving various parts of his body cautiously, testing for broken limbs. The thing was on top of him in a second, menacing and unstoppable. John lit a light, and held it in front of the things face. The shadows boiled and hissed where the light fell on it, and the thing dove away quickly. _This is hopeless_ , John thought as he scrambled to his feet, I _need someone to distract him_.

 

It was only then that Dave decided to kick down the massive door, his sword raised high in challenge. He stood there a while, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. But that was all the space the thing needed. It was on Dave in a moment, tackling him to the floor. John’s heart flipped as he heard the bitten off cry in pain. He couldn’t decide if he was oddly calm, or so panicked that everything was instinctive, but he grabbed a beam of wood that had splintered off of the chandelier, clicked his fingers and patiently waited for the thing to catch. The wood was dry, and old, and didn’t take very long at all to catch fire and burn. And wow, it burned brightly. John dragged it over to where Dave and the thing were fighting, and swing it with all his might at the thing. It screamed, loud and high and unholy, before retreating to a corner of the room. John dropped the wood, falling to his knees next to Dave, who was still groaning in pain. A quick glance revealed the same burns John had on his arm. Dave’d live. 

“You okay?” He asked, still warily watching the shadow.

“Do I sound okay?” Dave asked through gritted teeth. John huffed.

“Can you be okay for the next five minutes?” John asked, watching the shadow stagger to its feet. Dave followed his line of vision as John laboured to his feet. 

“Good call,” he mumbled. John held out a hand, and there was barely a moment’s hesitation before Dave grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet. The shadow was on its feet in a moment, and charged at them, screaming its awful scream. Dave and John dove apart, and the thing passed right through. 

“What’s our plan now?” Dave asked, picking up his sword from where it fell. John looked at the new pile of wood in the middle of the floor, and managed a half-baked, not-quite there plan. 

“Distract him,” John breathed, before sprinting off in the other direction. He heard the first words of a protest on Dave’s lips, but this was soon cut off by the sound of metal on metal. Part of him wanted to turn away, but most of him knew that it would be his downfall. John grabbed the huge, ornate, wooden chair, and pulled it off it’s slight platform. Apparently very old (and very brittle), it cracked as it fell. That would have to be enough. John turned around to watch the fight, and was relieved to see that Dave was managing to hold his own. The demon had a monstrous sword, the kind you need two hands to use, made of the same strange black stuff he was. It flickered and danced, as untouchable as the shadow itself. For some reason, the thing wasn’t teleporting and jumping like it usually did. It was fighting fair. This only served to unsettle john further. He grabbed the bits of chandelier and chucked them on as well. 

“I sure hope you’ve got an actual plan, John,” Dave called out, his tone warning. John assumed he was getting tired, and not beaten too badly. 

“Just keep him busy!” John called back. He grabbed a few of the unlit torches on the walls and threw them on the pile. It didn’t seem enough. He grabbed some of the hanging fabric off the wall as well, and threw them on. That would have to be enough. He ripped one, and used it to messily dab up some of the oil, throwing it on. 

“Dave!” he called, turning back to the fight. Dave narrowly avoided a slash from the mighty sword. Not needing any other encouragement, he ran for John, putting the strange pile of wood and flammable objects between him and the demon. The thing turned, flickered, and was on top of them in the blink of an eye 

 

_Please, please, please_ John thought. 

 

He flicked his thumb against the palm of his hand, and sparks sprung onto the cloth. It immediately caught light, the apparently silk flags burning brighter than he had anticipated. The flame quickly spread to the wooden chair, which went up in flames with a mighty crackling and what could only be described as a ‘whoomph’. John jumped backwards slightly, bringing Dave with him. John looked him over, checking him for any new injuries. The flames reflected in a strangely beautiful way in his glasses. 

“Did it work?” Dave asked, finally turning to John. The blood-curdling high pitched scream that came after this question was answer enough. The boys cautiously edged around the impromptu bonfire to see what was left of Lord Monteglio, the third of his name, Lying on his back, screaming. His skin boiled and sizzled under the light, huge black bubbles forming on his skin and popping with a hiss. It writhed and twitched, screaming like nails down a chalkboard the whole time. 

 

They watched grimly as he slowly faded away, until all that was left was the crackling of the bonfire. They just kept staring at the space the most powerful demon had died, until Dave finally spoke up. 

“Jesus christ,” Dave said, “that was fucking _horrific.”_

“Yeah,” John breathed in agreement, “it’s in my nightmares forever.”

“Shit was like some sort of goddamn horror story, you know the ones with the gory-ass illustrations?” Dave continued. John huffed the beginning of a laugh. 

“You okay?” he asked, looking at Dave again. He rolled his neck bravely. 

“Nothing some of that burn salve won’t fix,” he said, sniffling a little. It was only then that he looked at John face on, and in the orange light John could see how red and sweaty his face was. 

“You?” he asked gently. John shrugged. 

“A little bruised, I guess,” he said, then added (with a somewhat hysterical chuckle), “I fell off a chandelier.” Dave snorted. 

“Classy.” They watched the bonfire a little longer, before realising something with a startling jolt. They turned to each other simultaneously, grabbing a fistful of each other’s shirts. 

“Sword,” they said, in near perfect unison. John would have taken the time to stop and laugh, if not for the urgency of the situation. They wheeled around, to see the huge thing Monteglio had wielded in battle lying at their feet. It had solidified into simple metal, with a dark stone handle. 

“There’s no way we’re going to be able to transport that,” Dave huffed. No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sword began to change. It shrunk down to the size of a small sword, closer to a dagger than anything you would call a sword.

“That’s,” Dave started. 

“Helpful,” John finished. They continued to watch it with the same trepidation one would watch a snake. 

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who has to pick it up,” John said, tearing his vision away from it. Dave nodded. 

“Alright, rock, paper, scissors.” John threw paper. Dave held up one finger. 

“What the fuck is that?” John cried. 

“Sword,” he said, like it was clear, “Sword beats everything.” John gaped incredulously, gathering himself up for a massive argument. 

“You cheating-“  
“Just pick up the fucking sword,” Dave said, gesturing at it. He huffed a little, pointing aggressively at Dave. 

“This isn’t over,” he said angrily. John bent down, reached out a hand, and hesitantly touched it. When nothing terrible happened as a result, he picked it up, and found it to be extremely light. He breathed a small sigh of relief. 

“One down,” Dave said, and John could hear the grin in his voice. He felt a grin spreading over his own face, coupled with the massive sense of accomplishment. 

“The sword to the shadow permanently bound,” he said, turning to Dave and grinning wide and toothy. He got the insane feeling that they should hug, but held his hand up for a high fvie instead. Dave was having none of it, scooping John up into a tight hug and whooping wildly. John laughed into his collarbone. 

“Only two more to go,” he said breathlessly. Dave broke away, holding John out at arms length. He looked as though he was about to say something, when they were interrupted by the swinging open of the back door. Guards tramped noisily into the room, encircling the boys. Dave drew his sword, pushing John behind him. John worried at his lower lip. They can’t have come _this far_ just to get thrown in prison. 

“Stop!” A voice boomed. The guards startled, but lowered their weapons. 

 

Into the room bustled a very round, very red looking man. His clothes were dirty and tattered, but he carried himself with dignity. He was a short man, but had a belly that stuck out several inches in front of him. He had a mighty black beard, and the hair on his head was scruffy and uncut. His eyes seemed a little too small for his face, but it was possible that they had been offset by an unusually large nose.

“Who…” John asked before he could stop himself. The man, if possible, went even more red. 

“I am Lord Benjamin Carr, first of his name, and ruler of this city!” he bellowed, taking several intimidating steps towards them, “and _who_ are _you_?” John gently pushed Dave’s sword arm down, extending his hand in greeting. 

“I’m John Egbert, and this is Dave Strider,” he said, as friendly as he could muster, “we’re adventurers.” The man looked at the burning tower in the middle of the room, and back at John. He spluttered a little. 

“See uh, there was this demon-“ 

“I know there was a demon! Why do you think I spent the last few years down in the dungeons?” the man yelled. John struggled not to flinch. 

“Well, this is how you get rid of the demon,” John said, gesturing vaguely to the bonfire. The man’s demeanour changed instantly. 

“You killed the demon?” he asked in a quiet, almost reverent voice. John just nodded. The man cheered, opening his arms and pulling John into a tight hug, which he was quickly released from as the man dragged Dave down as well. 

“My boys!” he bellowed, clapping them both on the back, “You have restored the city to its rightful state, freed me from the dungeon, and purged our city of a terrible evil. Tell me, good sirs, where are you staying?”

“The Bulls Back,” John said. Lord Carr snorted, pushing the air out of his nose heavily. 

“I know that inn, terrible service, just terrible! Please, allow me to thank you by offering you a room here, in the palace!” He said, gesturing to the marble walls. John’s jaw dropped, but he managed a strangled ‘oh, no, we couldn’t possibly.’

“No? Well at least let me give you some reward,” he said, grinning ear to ear. 

“Two hundred gold pieces each for the heroes of the Silver City!” Carr yelled. Carr seemed to do a lot of yelling. One of the guards disappeared, and then returned with two heavy looking canvas bags, handing one to each of them. Carr then went on to talk about how the day after tomorrow would be a city-wide festival, and how they had to be his guests of honour, etc etc. John had long since stopped listening, and was too busy trying to comprehend the amount of money. He’d already worked out how many sacks of flour it would buy (around twenty thousand) , and how long he could have lived off it with his dad (about five years). 

“I suppose you’ll be looking to rest, and Heaven knows I need a shower,” he gave them a friendly clap on the back that left John a little winded, “God be with you both!” Then they were led out the door, with some more instructions of ‘meet me back here at nine o’clock the day after tomorrow and we’ll give a nice little speech’, and the doors were shut with a mighty thud. 

“You okay there, John?” Dave asked, and it was obvious he was trying not to laugh. 

“Two hundred gold pieces is a lot,” he said vaguely. Dave laughed a little, and slung an arm around his shoulder. 

“C’mon, let’s go get cleaned up,” he said. 

 

—

 

John was worried that the second bath would be just as awkward as the first, but on their way there he felt the exhaustion seeping into his bones, and Dave seemed much the same. They just sort of listlessly sat there, splashing the water a little. John had to drag Dave out of the bath when they both started going wrinkly, and practically had to dress him as well. They both schlepped home, gave a friendly wave to the innkeeper, and collapsed on their bed. 

“Do you think they’ve had their memories restored?” John asked. 

“Prolly,” was Dave’s muffled answer. There was a long silence. 

“D’you think we could sleep for a week?” John asked, looking over at Dave, who had collapsed face-first on the pillow. 

“Prolly. G’night,” was all he said. John laughed a little, kicking off his shoes and wriggling out of his shirt. Dave had pinned the blankets down, but he managed to get under the duvet on his side of the bed. 

“Good night, Dave,” he said. Dave was already snoring. 

 

_“John, C’mon…in there plea…..right? Ten feet…smoke? You’ve go… Don’t make it like … you…you.”_

_Who’s…?_

_…?_

_…you talking about?_

_My…something’s wrong with my…_

_It’s too…_

_…burning. I taste burning…what…_

_Is that you…?_

_…do that?_

_Did I do…?_

_…control it …_

_….sorry_

_I’m sorry_

_I’m sorry I’m so…_

 

John woke up with a jolt, sitting upright in the bed, kicking off the blankets that had become tied around his legs. It took him a little while to get his bearings, and calm the incessant shaking of his hands. Again, he was crying, marked by the silent slide of tears down his face. He tried to take a deep breath. No use crying about something he could barely even remember. He glanced down at where Dave lay, snoring softly into his pillow, and could laugh a little. 

“Man, you sleep like a log,” he said under his breath. Now, he was left completely unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go back to sleep yet, he knew that much. But he couldn’t stay up; the sky hadn’t even begun to get light. Dave moved around in his sleep with a soft, grumpy noise. John gave another soft laugh, and bit his lip a little. What was the worst that could happen? He curled up on his side, squishing up to Dave. He was cold, but John didn’t mind. The small line of contact buzzed through his body, and it was almost as though his whole world boiled down to that one point, where skin met fabric. John allowed himself a smile despite the terrible realisation sinking through him. 

 

John couldn’t like Dave like that. John couldn’t want that. He panicked for a small while before eventually giving in. No point in freaking out about it; it wouldn’t change anything. For now, he let himself enjoy the feeling of falling asleep next to Dave. 

 

He didn’t dream for the rest of the night. 

 

—

 

Eventually, after a day spent tending to their battle wounds, the time came for them to visit the festival, and so they put on their cleanest clothes and made their way through the humming crowds. John listened in to a few of the conversations. 

“I hear that it was a shadow, a mimic that can alter people’s minds…” someone was whispering to someone else. 

“But I fought that Lowd Mon..Monto…M was de wulah!” John managed to translate the young child’s sentence to something resembling ‘who the fuck is this Lord Carr’. 

“No, dear, it’s Lord Carr. It has been for centuries,” the mother replied, “I don’t know how I could have forgotten!”

“I don’t care who rules this godforsaken city. Just lower the bloody tax rate!” someone grumbled do nobody in particular. Soon enough they found their way back to the palace, and pushed through the crowd to stand by the door. John didn’t miss the way Dave subtly stood to stand behind John. There was a great fanfare, and Lord Carr stepped out onto the landing, decked from head to toe in velvet robes. His beard had been trimmed, and his head hair cut into something more respectable. He raised his hands to rancorous applause. 

 

“Fellow citizens of the Silver City! I welcome you to this, which will be, from now on, the Annual Festival of Light!” He bellowed. A cheer rose up. 

“Two days ago, an evil that has plagued our city for years was vanquished, by these two young adventurers,” here, he gestured to John and Dave, “Egbert, and Strider! We have thanked them enough already, but today they are our guests of honour. Treat them well!” The crowd cheered again, someone was chanting ‘Egbert, Strider!’, but it was mostly lost amongst the general noise. 

“The demon that pretended to be the ruler of this fine city made many unwholesome changes. I am pleased to announce that the Hall of “Justice” shall be demolished and repurposed, schools will once again admit girls, and the tax rate has returned to what it previously was!” The crowd went nuts, applauding and whistling for ages before Carr held up a hand to silence them. 

“And now, let the festival begin!” he cried. Somewhere in the distance, a massive bonfire was lit, and someone started playing music. The crowd dispersed amazingly quickly, hurrying away, presumably to tend stalls or buy things before they got sold out. Carr smiled at them, his little eyes twinkling, before waddling down the steps (joined by two members of the guard) and into the festival. John turned to Dave, grinning widely. 

“C’mon, Dave! I’ve never been a guest of honour before!” He grabbed Dave by the hand and led him into the fray.

 

The festival was wonderful. Stalls everywhere were selling hot, greasy food for cheap, and there were clowns, acrobats, jugglers, fire breathers, minstrels and dancers on just about every street corner. John chattered excitedly the whole time, whilst Dave often got caught up by a beautiful looking woman for one of the impromptu dances. John laughed, schooling his jealousy into a wide smile. It was funny, the way Dave got a panicked look about him and tripped up over his own feet. At one point, a small child ran up to them, and handed them a piece of paper.

“Imadethisforyouthankyouforsavingus,” she said, before running back to her mother and hiding behind her skirts. John laughed in a way he hoped was more approachable than cruel.

“Thank you,” he called, and was whisked away by more people who wanted to dance with them. He stored it safely in his back pocket. 

 

They got plenty of free stuff, but John insisted on paying for some of it. After all, he had enough money to last him years, if he was smart about it. Eventually they came to a mysterious purple tent, with strange smells coming out of it. A sign above it read, in flowery writing, “ _Fortunes Read, the Future Unveiled_ ”, and below that “ _Tarot, Palm, and Crystal Ball Readings_ ”. 

“C’mon, Dave, it’ll be fun!” John said, pulling him towards the tent.  
“Nah, man, c’mon. You know these people are just fucking scammers,” Dave said, pulling his hand away, “It’s all bullshit! Expensive bullshit at that.” It was then that a young lady stuck her head out of the entrance way. Her skin was a deep, deep brown, and her hair was neatly pulled back behind a simple headband. John could just glimpse the top of her orange robe. 

“If you’re going to argue about me,” he said, her voice calm and surprisingly deep, “I’d prefer that you did it somewhere I couldn’t hear.” 

“Sorry, Miss,” John said, having the decency to blush a little. 

“Rose is fine, I’m no lady,” she said cooly. Dave snorted. 

“Y’know what, I’ll humour you,” Dave said, “C’mon, John, I wanna see what little miss Rose can do.” 

 

The tent was dim, but nor unpleasantly so, and it smelled like oranges and lavender. 

“Please, boys, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chairs behind a round table, covered in a ratty table cloth with stars on it. Rose looked at them, her eyes smiling despite her otherwise neutral face. 

“What’re you smiling about?” John asked, grinning a little himself. 

“Oh, nothing of much consequence,” she replied, “would you like to begin?” She held her hand out to Dave, who reluctantly handed her his hand. She studied it a while, tracing the lines of his palm.

“You know, this part is mostly for show,” she said, “all I really need to do is get a good look at you.”

“How the fuck does that work?” Dave asked, somewhat insulted. John’s eyes widened. 

“No way,” he said slowly, “You’re an _actual_ seer?” Rose gave him a small smile. 

“I thought that, since we appear to be in the company of a bona fide elemental, there was no point in keeping up appearances,” she said cooly. 

“Did I miss something?” Dave asked, a little aggressively. 

“Dave, she’s the _real deal_ ,” John said, turning to him. 

“But, please, keep that under your hat?” she requested cooly. John got the feeling she was a cool sort of person, but found himself liking her anyway.

“Right, right, sorry,” John said, a little quieter. She nodded gratefully. 

“Now, Dave, would you like me to tell you your future?” she asked quietly. Dave nodded stiffly. 

“Hardship ahead, but happiness too,” she said, tilting her head a little, “great fortune, and good luck. A long life. A happy life.” 

“Jeez, do you have to be so cryptic?” Dave asked, clearly annoyed. 

“Yes." She fixed Dave with a hard glare. "I can only see the vague path,” she answered, “it’s twists and turns. Not the monuments along the way.” Dave grumbled a little. 

“Now, you, mister Egbert, are going to have a very…” she trailed off a little, and in the dim light John thought she blanched a little. 

“What?” he asked, his face falling a little. She shook her head, as if pulling herself out of a trance. 

“Nothing, nothing. A steep climb, in your life, and the path will become very unclear, like smoke from a dying fire,” she said, and John thought he heard a slight tremor in her voice, “But just remember to stand by your friends, and no ill will befall you.” There was a long silence, and she leaned in a little, confidentially. 

“Take good care of each other, gentlemen,” she said quietly, “it’s the only way you’ll make it through.” 

 

They left without paying. Rose said they didn’t have to. 

“That was…strange,” John said. 

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Dave said, “all she did was tell us what was obvious. ‘Take good care of each other’, what a load of bullshit. Like _I’m_ gonna mistreat _you_.” The sentiment made John smile a little, but he had to play it off. 

“Oh _Dave_ , my knight in shining armour!” he said, swooning dramatically, “what a _gallant_ and _pure_ soul you are!” 

“Cut it out, Egbert,” he said, nudging John a little, “I take it all back.” 

 

—

 

That night, they went back to their rooms and packed up their bags. John finally got a chance to look at the thing the child had given him, and it turned out to be a crude drawing of John and Dave fighting what looked to be satan. John laughed a little, and showed Dave, who didn’t appreciate it nearly as much. They pulled out their maps, and plotted out the root to where the little fire doodle was. It was a long walk, two weeks at least. 

“We should get going tomorrow morning,” Dave said. John nodded forlornly. 

“It makes me kinda sad, y’know?” he said, like he was admitting his deepest, darkest secret, “we stay somewhere a few days, get attached, and then we’re gone again!” Dave gave him a friendly punch on the arm. 

“Buck up, Egbert,” he said, a small smile on his face, “only two more things, and then we’re the richest motherfuckers in the country!” John allowed himself a small smile. 

 

Just two more things. 

 

—

 

They left at the crack of dawn the following day. 


	7. Chapter 7: Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes them longer than two weeks to get to the town, and in that time Dave makes several unpleasant discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAA I'M SO SORRY THAT THIS IS CRAZY LATE ;__;
> 
> But here it is, I'll try and post more regularly now, but don't expect an update until maybe April? 
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH for all your wonderful support guys! I grin like an idiot every time I read one of your lovely comments! 
> 
> (Alternate Chapter Summary: ANGST AHOY!)

The town they were headed to sat in the foothills of a mountain range, on the edge of a large lake. The roads towards it were wide, and well kept, before slowly deteriorating into little more than footpaths a few days from the town. It was isolated, rural, and apparently so small it didn’t even have a name. John decided to call it the ‘Sburb of the North’, whilst Dave insisted that ‘Asstown’ was a much better name. It was, for the first three days, the only thing they fought about. 

“Dave,” John said one day, “Asstown doesn’t even make sense as a name! It’s not shaped like an ass or anything!” The weather was starting to turn, and soon, Dave knew, they’d need to buy winter coats and cloaks and things. As it was, the air was cool enough to raise some hairs on the back of his arm. 

“Well, neither does ‘Sburb of the North’. It ain’t that far North, and it ain’t nothing like Sburb!” Dave replied, hiking the pack a little higher on his back. The roads were empty, and Dave was perfectly at ease. 

“It’s further North than _our_ Sburb,” John huffed. 

“That’s another thing; it just makes everything complicated! I’ll be like, ‘Hey John, remember that time in Sburb?’ and you’ll be like ‘hey which Sburb?’ and then I’ll be like ‘That one in the mountains’, and you’ll be like ‘oh yeah I remember’. But, if we call it something else, like, I don’t know, Asstown, everything’s easy. I’ll be like ‘Hey John remember that time in Asstown?’ and you’ll be like ‘goddamn I do what a well named town’.” John laughed a little, and Dave let himself smile.

“‘What a well named town’? Am I really that lame?” John asked, teasingly. Dave grinned down at him. 

“John, I have not even begun to touch upon your infinite lameness,” he said. John shoved him a little, pretending to be grumpy.

“You’re at least half as lame as me!” he said, “Like, remember that time you tried to be all cool like ‘pssh yeah I don’t care whether or not you’re all this stuff’ and you blushed and hugged me the whole way through?” 

“Hey, you hugged me,” Dave said seriously. 

“Well you hugged back!” 

“Look, who hugged who is irrelevant to the fact that Asstown, I’m sorry John, is a _much_ better name than ‘Sburb of the North’.” 

 

On the third day, huddled around the fire on a particularly cold night, They looked at the map again, and saw that it did, in fact, have a name. 

“What?” John exclaimed upon discovering this gruesome piece of information, “Sburb of the North is a _much_ better name than ‘Pailtown’!” 

“And ‘Asstown’ is a much better name than Sburb of the North, so like, twice as good as ‘Pailtown’.” Dave was very eager to point out that Asstown was a better name, but John seemed slightly preoccupied. 

“This is bullshit!” He huffed, plopping over onto his back. Dave nodded and fell onto his back, too. Their heads were close together, the crowns just a few centimetres apart. Dave would be lying if he said the proximity didn’t make him feel stupidly happy. 

“We should rename it,” John said decisively, “To a democratic combination of our names. ‘Asstown of the North’ sounds better than their dumb name.” 

“How about ‘ASSburb of the North town Pail?’” Dave offered. 

“No,” John said sounding genuinely offended, “That’s awful!” 

“Wait, I can make it worse,” Dave said, already working it out, “Let’s go for…’PailAsstown of the Northtown Sburbtown’.” 

“Dave no!” John giggled.

“I’m sure I can come up with a worse name…how about…” Dave started. 

“How about ‘Pissbabies Live Here’?” John offered. Dave barked out a short laugh. 

“Mature.” 

“‘Come here to die’?” John offered. Dave nodded thoughtfully. 

“I like that one. It gives me a really clear purpose as to why the towns there,” he said. There was the smallest of pauses, and they both dissolved into childish giggling.

“You’re weird, Dave,” John said eventually, turning his head to look Dave straight on. Dave met his gaze evenly, having earlier discarded his shades. 

 

He was once again struck by their proximity to each other. He swore he could feel the gentle puffs of John’s breath in the gap between his nose and mouth, but he assumed he was imagining it. He swallowed, and found his throat uncomfortably dry. 

“Coming from the short gay witch?” he said casually, “Look who’s calling the kettle black.” John snorted, and turned his face back to the sky. The fire was casting shadows on the other side of John’s face, highlighting his round cheekbones, and the soft shape of his lips. He was, Dave thought briefly, beautiful. 

 

And then he stopped himself. He didn’t like guys, he told himself firmly. Boobs were great. Boobs were sexy. Boobs were great _and_ sexy. Besides, he had enough problems on his plate. The pastor _already_ hated him for these fucking red eyes, and his Brother was god knows where, but he had to keep up the Strider reputation because-

 

Why exactly? The pastor wasn’t here. His brother was god knows where. All he had was John. And he doubted that John would mind if he did make a move. All he had was John. 

 

But all John had was Dave. He needed Dave to be there to patch up his wounds and get him out of dumb scenarios and rub his back when he had nightmares. John trusted him, and Dave couldn’t betray that trust. He _wouldn’t_. Besides, Dave liked boobs. Not dicks. Why was he even on this train of thought in the first place?

 

“Shut up,” John said from under his massive blanket. He’d stitched it together with another blanket he’d bought so he could have, Dave remembers the exact words, “a blanket that’s twice the blanket of any blanket out there currently being a blanket.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Dave said defensively. 

“You’re thinking loudly,” John huffed, turning to look at him again, “go to sleep. I’m tired.” Dave snorted, pulling out his unfortunately thin blanket from his pack. 

“I’m so sorry to have offended your delicate sensibilities, highness. I mean, shit’s practically-“ he started, but was interrupted by John awkwardly patting Dave’s face. 

“Shhhhh,” he said, rubbing his palm over Dave’s mouth, “sleep.” Dave laughed again, and John removed the hand, letting it rest in the space between them. Dave waited for John to drop off, snoring quietly on his side of the fire, before reaching out and putting his hand over it. John’s fingers tightened around it in his sleep, and Dave bit the knuckles of his free hand for want of a better thing to do. _Adorable_. He pushed the thought away, with another stubborn ‘I like boobs’. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey Dave,” John said, one particularly miserable day following the. It was raining, and raining hard. The water was freezing cold, and they were both shivering. Occasionally the wind would pick up and turn their skin to ice briefly. 

“What?” Dave asked through gritted teeth. John pointed to a snail slowly creeping its way along next to the road. Dave’s face fell. 

“Do not.” 

“Check out this-“ 

“John, I swear to God.” 

“Weird beetle!” John finished, a defiant grin on his face. 

“Start running, Egbert,” Dave threatened. When John failed to take this threat anywhere near seriously, he lunged at him. This spurred John into action, and he leaned back, arms windmilling wildly. It was then that John decided to slip over nothing and fall flat on his back in a puddle. Dave watched, trying not to laugh. 

“It’s not funny,” John said, sounding miserable. He sat up, shaking some of the water out of his hair. 

“It’s a little funny,” Dave said. John just sighed. 

“I’m cold,” he said. 

“So stop playing in cold puddles,” Dave said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. He held a hand out to John, who promptly took it and hauled himself to his feet. Dave threw an arm around his shoulder, and they kept walking. 

“Think of it this way,” Dave said, “At least you’re all squeaky clean now.” John shoved him a little, but made no attempt to extract himself from Dave’s arm. 

 

Later that night, whilst they managed to find some refuge from the rain under an overhanging rock, and whilst John’s clothes dried out over the fire, John sat on his slightly damp mat, with his Mega Blanket and Dave’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Davealso quickly got cold, and struggled out of his damp clothes, before huddling under the blankets with John. He was careful to maintain a respectful distance between them. After all, they were only in boxer shorts. 

 

“I hope we don’t get sick, walking around in the rain all the time,” John said, sniffling a little. Dave just nodded. 

“I mean, like, even a cold would be super inconvenient,” John said, “we’d need more food, and we’d need to make soup, and we spend so much time in close quarters that if _one_ of us got sick, we’d _both_ end up sick. And then we’d just be lying here sniffling and moaning.” 

“I don’t remember the last time I got sick,” Dave said. There was a pause. “No, wait, I do. I was like, five, and I had a stomach bug or some shit. But I was all like ‘calm down, I’m fine, I’m fine’, all that Jazz. Anyway, so I have a stomach bug, and I feel like garbage. And I’m out and about, at school. And the teacher’s talking about reading and writing, and I’m just trying not to let on that I’m sick. All my efforts, right, all my efforts were being poured into making sure I looked perfectly well. So then the teacher calls me up, and she’s like”-here, Dave put on the most ridiculous falsetto voice-“ ‘David Strider, are you listening to me?’ and I was like ‘yeah, ‘course.’, and she was like ‘well then come up here and spell some words for the whole class, because I don’t believe you are’. Like, honestly, what a bitch. Anyway, so I get up, I take the chalk. She says ‘moist’, and I promptly blow chunks over the whole front of the classroom. On her, on the chalkboard, on everything. She called Bro, he highfived me, and put me on bedrest for like six days.” 

“Gross,” John giggled, “I’d like to avoid a repeat of that!”

“Yeah, me too,” Dave said earnestly. John laughed a little, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Dave let his eyelids slide shut, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. 

“Oh my god,” John said under his breath. Dave made a questioning noise in the back of his throat. 

“I just realised that I can control water. I could have kept all that rain off of us,” he said. Dave groaned, letting his head fall onto John’s shoulder. 

“I know, right?” John replied. He laid his arm across Dave’s shoulders, oddly warm against Dave’s clammy skin. The second last thing that he thought was that he could get used to this, and about how nice skin on skin contact could be. His last thought was another stubborn reminder that he liked boobs. 

 

* * *

 

“John,” Dave said, on another chilly day, “I’m bored.” The roads were still completely empty, and it was starting to worry Dave. But at the same time, he was glad. No potential thieves were better than five potential thieves.

“Interesting,” John said absently. He seemed more interested in trying to get some feeling into his fingers, and they _really_ had to stock up on some kind of cold weather clothes. Dave felt fine. He’d always had warm hands. 

“No, _not_ interesting,” Dave said, louder, “I’m so fucking bored, John. This is boring. This is more boring than learning how to make a gauntlet, and let me tell you, that was fucking boring as watching paint dry. This is more boring than lying in the mud for five hours. At least you get to complain about stuff then. John, John this is more boring than waiting for my brother and his raw orange cabbage dinner to come home in the evening. John, this is-“

“Do you have, like, an actual solution, or do you just want to keep bitching?” John asked sweetly.

“I’m glad you asked,” Dave said, not missing a beat. He couldn’t help but laugh at the wary face John adopted at the speed of his answer. 

“Does this involve stripping?” John asked, rubbing his hands in a way that was inefficiently returning the warmth to his extremities. 

“Hey, you’re the one thirsting after that spicy old man cock, not me,” Dave said. John laughed for a long time. It sounded like sand paper on his ears, with how jarring and loud and annoying it was, but Dave was convinced that it was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. 

“The game,” Dave continued, over John’s giggles of ‘spicy man cock’, “goes like this. I try to guess something about you, like ‘you grew up eating nothing but honey’-don’t look at me like that, John, it’s just an example- and if I get it right, you need to tell me something weird about you. If I guess wrong, I need to tell you something weird about me.” 

“I would have thought we’re the world’s leading experts in each other by now,” John said doubtfully, 

“Then what have you got to loose?” Dave said with a shrug, “C’mon. Just walking along in silence is more boring than-“ 

“Fine, fine,” John sighed. He looked Dave up and down, squinting a little.  


“I bet that you’ve always hated asking for help,” John said finally. Dave sighed.  
“Got me there,” he replied, “Uh…let me think…okay. I’ve got one. I cannot stand the sight of puppets.” John snorted, rolling his eyes, and Dave hurriedly remade his point, “I’m _serious_ , John, those things are fucking terrifying. The way they stare at you blankly, but their mouths move? Fucking awful. Awful. Horrific. I have had nightmares about those stupid fucking pieces of-“ 

“Alright, alright! I get it! You hate children’s toys, now shut up and guess!” John was giggling, despite how serious he was trying to sound. Dave huffed. 

“I bet that you had a cat when you were younger,” he said finally. John was somewhat taken aback. 

“Yeah, I did! His name was bakerycat, on account of the fact that he was a-“

“Cat who lived in the shop? I managed to get that too,” Dave said impatiently, “Now come out with it. Something juicy, John. I gave you my fantastic story about puppets.” John thought for a while. 

“When I was little,” he said, “I used to think that flour, y’know, the stuff you use to bake, and _flowers_ , the things that grow, were the same thing. And one day, I heard my dad complaining about the fact that we were a sack short in terms of how much flour should have been delivered. So I took an empty sack, went outside, and picked all the flowers I could find-“ Dave started laughing, the image of little baby John wandering around with an empty flower sack trailing behind him was just too funny. 

“It gets better,” John assured, “because I could only find like, four daisies? So I just filled the rest of the sack with mud. Dad was _not_ happy.” he finished. Dave let himself laugh a little louder than that. 

“Not bad. Not quite as good as my _fantastic_ story about puppets, but not bad. Shoot,” Dave said. 

“Uh, You probably had really short hair growing up?” John offered. Dave made an obnoxious sound.  
“Nope. Sorry. It grew down to my fucking shoulders,” he said. John pulled a face. 

“Why’d you stop?” he asked. Dave shrugged. 

“I saw the light? More specifically, the light reflecting in my disgusting greasy haircut.” John nodded in approval. 

“Okay, uh…well.” He stopped, the smile falling off his face. Dave glanced around, hand instantly travelling down to the hilt of his sword. John caught sight of it and shook his head. 

“I uh, realised that I don’t have any other weird stories,” he shrugged, beginning the business of walking again, though marginally slower. Dave fell into step with him, trying not to let the pace drive him nuts. John glanced up at him, and a brief flicker of a scowl crossed his face.

“It’s fine, Dave,” he grumbled, picking up his face. 

“Bullshit,” Dave said, but he tried to make his voice gentle, and not at all accusing. He wasn’t sure if he managed it or not, “C’mon man, out with it.” John looked back up at him, and he just looked so _torn_. So lost. There was something in his face that made Dave’s chest ache in a strange sort of way. _He shouldn’t look like that,_ Dave thought, _he shouldn’t ever look anything but happy._ And maybe it was selfish, because John had the right to feel however he damn well pleased, but Dave believed it with all his heart. 

“It’s just,” John started, rubbing his hands again, “You’re probably the only person in all of _Sburb_ who doesn’t know about this….thing. And I dunno if-“ John stopped short, as if he’d realised something. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Dave said, backtracking instantly. John just shook his head. 

“No, y’know. Now that I think about it, it doesn’t matter all that much anyway,” John said with a shrug. A faint smile pulled at his lips, “And if this ruins anyone’s life, it’ll be Jake’s.” 

“Jake the fisherman’s kid?” Dave asked. Now that he thought about it, John had mentioned the fisherman’s son every so often. Jake was nice enough, he thought, as far as people go. He had a massive stick up his ass, but he was nice enough. John nodded confirmation. 

“Right. A couple years ago, I was buying some eels for an eel pie”-here, Dave pulled a face-“and…Oh don’t make that face, Dave! It’s not as gross as it sounds. Anyway, the dude handed me a massive basket of eels and I was kinda struggling to carry it. So the fisherman is all ‘Oh my son will help you with that don’t worry none’ and sends out Jake. And Jake and I were…friends? I guess? We hung out now and then. And he was nice enough. Anyway, we’re a couple streets away from my house, and he’s asking all these weird questions like ‘have you ever seen a girl naked’ and ‘have you ever kissed anyone’. It was weird.” John was grimacing now, “And then he just sort of…pushes me into an alley, and kisses me. Like, a lot. By then I’d worked out that I was meant to like girls and didn’t, but it surprised me anyway. And eventually I manage to wedge my hands between us like ‘Please stop’. And he storms off, leaves me with the basket, and goes home. The next morning, everyone in town knew I was gay.” John’s voice had dropped low and sad. Dave felt helpless. Weirder than that, he felt every ounce of Jake’s betrayal as acutely as if the same had been done to him. He sighed a little, trying to think of something to say that would make it better.

“Was he a good kisser?” he asked finally. John laughed, looking at Dave like he’d grown an extra head.

“Fuck no!” he said, “He kissed like he was trying to eat my face!” They laughed together, long and loud and brilliant. And everything was back to normal. They walked in silence a while more, John still rubbing his hands. _Fuck it,_ Dave thought. 

“Hey, I have another thing to guess,” he said, and John looked over, surprised.

“Yeah? I thought the game was over.”

“I bet that your hands are cold,” Dave said, ignoring him. John shrugged a little. 

“I’ll live.” 

“Well, my hands are…warm,” Dave offered, feeling his face go red. John’s face lit up in a way Dave didn’t exactly like. 

“Awww, Dave!” he cooed, “If you want to hold my hand just say so!” 

“No, fuck off,” he grumbled, looking down. 

“Are you sure?” John asked. Dave ignored him. 

“Dude, you’re so red right now,” he said. 

“Do you want to loose your hand to frostbite or not?” he asked the ground, his voice perhaps an octave too high. John laughed, and Dave felt a set of frozen fingers slide across his palm. He clutched at them gently, hearing his heart hammer away at his ribcage. 

“How are your hands so warm?” John asked, putting his other set on the back of Dave’s hand. He just shrugged. 

“Luck?” he offered. 

 

They walked like that until the sun set, and even then, John seemed reluctant to let go to start the fire. Dave put the strange absence he felt when John removed his hands down to hunger, and ignored it for the rest of the evening. 

 

It was still there, much to his annoyance, when he woke up. 

 

* * *

 

“I’m not the only one who’s getting slightly worried about the emptiness of the roads, am I?” Dave asked on the twelfth day. They had not, in all twelve days, passed another human being on the road. 

“I would’ve thought you’d be happy about it!” John said, sniffling a little. He had a bit of a cold, and Dave insisted on walking on the other side of the road so he didn’t get contaminated. 

“I am pretty happy about it, but I would have liked to see at least one other person on this suspiciously well kept road by now,” Dave grumbled. 

“Yeah,” John said. They walked for a while in silence. 

“Don’t we need to turn off onto the shitty road soon?” Dave asked. 

“Yeah, I think so,” John said, pulling out his half of the map. He took half a step towards Dave, who instantly pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. 

“No, no no no no. Back. Don’t get me sick,” he said, voice slightly muffled by the fabric. John rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t you think you may be overreacting?” he asked, like he was talking to a five year old.

“No.” 

“Dave, c’mon,”

“No. This whole part is mostly on your half of the map anyway.” John sighed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Drama queen’, before eventually checking the map, squinting in the already dimming light.

“Yeah, there’s a big town coming up soon. We should be able to make it there by the end of the day. The dirt road’s on the other side of it,” he said. 

“Sweet. Maybe there’ll be more people on that road,” Dave said, taking half a step further away from John.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” John said, coughing a little. 

 

They walked in silence for a little distance. It was odd, Dave thought, the strange woody smell in the air. Smoke. He glanced around, looking for the source, but they were flanked by dense forest on all sides. 

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. 

“I can barely smell anything,” John grumbled. Dave dismissed it. They weren’t in immediate danger. There was another long silence. 

“Is it just me, or has the temperature gone up a little?” John asked. Dave noticed the suspicious way that, despite the cool air and rising moon, he didn’t feel particularly cold. 

“That is weird,” he said. He exchanged an anxious glance with John, before picking up his pace slightly. 

 

Suddenly, they emerged into a clearing, bathed in red light. There was a village, just a few feet away from the road, and it was burning. Between the crackling of the wood, and the collapsing of beams, Dave could hear the calls for help, the screaming, the crying of kids. He stared, wide eyed, as a large building suddenly collapsed with a huge groan and splintering of wood, sending a shower of embers down on where it had once stood. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” he muttered under his breath. He was pulled out of his silent awe when John suddenly surged forwards; _towards_ the burning town. Dave just managed to grab the back of his tunic. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dave demanded over the noise. 

“What do you mean?” John asked, half turning to Dave, his eyes wide. Dave watched the firelight dance in the reflection of his glasses. 

“Why are you running towards a goddamn burning town?” 

“We hafta help, Dave!” John cried, turning fully towards him, “We can’t just leave them here to-“

“John, look at it!” he yelled, gesturing wildly to the village. A roof fell in, dramatically punctuating his point, “You’ll die if you go anywhere near that place.” 

“So?” John asked. 

 

That was when something in Dave snapped. John was his best friend. His only friend, if Dave was being honest. All Dave had was John. And John kept throwing himself into the firing line. To be honest, he usually dragged Dave with him. The last time it had happened, it was because they needed something. The time before that, in fairness to John, had been an accident. But this, this was John consciously deciding to run head first into a fucking _burning town_ to try and do some good. And Dave was sick of it, sick of putting his life on the line to-

“What are you talking about?” John demanded, pushing away from Dave slightly. It was then that Dave realised he’d started saying some of that out loud. He found that he was too angry to care.

“John, what are you even going to do? Go in, help someone out, and get trapped in a burning building? Or maybe you’d rather use your fucking magic to put out the fire, and then get put to death? And get me dragged into this whole fucking mess! I didn’t ask for this!” Dave was all but screaming now, getting closer and closer to John’s face. John sniffled, and Dave had the sinking feeling it wasn’t from his cold. Then his face hardened, and he threw down his pack, thrusting his half a map into Dave’s hands

“Fine, Dave, you go off on your dumb quest for some fucking treasure or whatever. I’ll actually help people!” John yelled back.He started heading back towards the village, a silhouette against the unstoppable force of the flames. 

 

Dave was furious. 

 

He acted instinctively, shoving John’s half of the map into his pocket, picking up John’s pack, throwing it over John, and then picking John up over his shoulder and resolutely walking away. John fought it the whole time, kicking Dave’s arm, beating his back, screaming obscenities that would make even the Blacksmith blush. Dave stoically walked away, until the red light had faded into the pale blue of the moonlight.

 

They made it to the city gates before Dave put John back down. John turned to him furiously, his hair ruffled and face red. 

“What the fuck was that, Dave?” he demanded. 

“That was me saving your stupid ass,” Dave growled back, “I think you may be forgetting that we have an actual _quest_ , John.” 

“A quest? A _quest_?” John was incredulous, “Oh, I’m so sorry that _people in need_ have been slowing your highly important _quest_ for treasure!” 

“You took that map, same as I did!” Dave yelled back, “Don’t you act all high and fucking mighty, John. You wanted the riches, same as I did.” 

“I _took_ that map because I wanted an out!” John yelled, “Just because you acted selfishly doesn’t mean that I did too!” 

“Get off your fucking high horse, John! You can’t save everyone in the world!” 

“I can at least _try!”_

“Not if trying get you, and everyone else killed along the way!” There was a thick silence. Dave noticed that, at some point, his hands had clenched into fists. He let out a shaky breath. John was resolutely not looking at him. 

“Look, John, we have to be practical,” Dave said, as gently as he could manage (which turned out to not be very gentle).

“Says who?” John snapped back. 

“Says me,” Dave said through gritted teeth.

“Since when were you the leader of this?” John yelled. 

“Since you started throwing yourself into messes you couldn’t get yourself out of!” 

“At least I’m not a spineless, cowardly, _selfish_ asshole like you! And you know something else? I-“ 

 

There was a dull thud, and John went spilling to the floor. Dave was breathing heavily. His fist hurt. He hadn’t meant to swing. And yet, he felt strangely unapologetic about it. There was a long, tense silence between them. John got to his feet, rubbing the offended jaw, looking at Dave like he’d never met him before. 

“Keep my half of the map,” John said under his breath, “I don’t need it any more.” And with that, he turned around and stalked off. 

“Where are you going?” Dave called out. 

“Home,” John replied. He turned a corner, and just like that, just like _that_ he was gone. 

 

_Fine_ , Dave thought, _that’s fine. John’s a fucking moron goody two shoes anyway. Who needs him? I’ve got the map, I’ve got one thing, I am ready to go. More treasure for me._

 

Dave wandered through the dimly lit streets, dodging kids playing bandits and the like, and found himself an appropriately shoddy inn. The rates were cheap. He figured he might as well. 

“One night,” he grumbled to the innkeeper. He handed over a gold piece, and received his change and a room key. 

“Iffyoor ‘uhngry, Dinner’s complmntry,” the keeper said. His accent was barely decernable, but Dave managed to make out ‘dinner’ and ‘complimentary’. On the one hand, hot food sounded fucking fantastic. But on the other hand, he didn’t really feel like spending time around other people. Solitude and a bed won out. 

“I’ll pass,” he grumbled, and loudly tramped upstairs to his room. It was small, and didn’t fit much else than a double bed. He kicked off his shoes, collapsed on top of it, and tried to get to sleep. He decided, after a few short minutes of this, that he was cold, and got himself under the blanket. A part of him missed John, and his cheery smile. A louder part of him informed him that John had been holding him back. And a really, really quiet part of him was starting to feel pad about punching him in the face, Rose’s cryptic final sentence of ‘take good care of each other’ floating faintly at the back of his mind. The weird absent feeling was intense, like a hole had opened up in his stomach, or his head was filled with salt water. 

“Fuck you, Egbert,” he said aloud. It made him feel slightly better about being alone, and he soon dropped off to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, he woke up to the sound of church bells ringing obnoxiously. He groaned, rolling over onto the other side of the bed, before getting to his feet. He glanced over at the empty half of the bed, just to make sure it hadn’t been a strangely vivid dream. It hadn’t been. 

 

Since he’d had ample time to cool down, Dave was beginning to regret, well, everything about the encounter with John. He decided that the best course of action was to blame John for how shitty he was feeling and move on. No sense in being counterproductive. 

“Fuck you, Egbert,” he said aloud for his own benefit again. This time, the calming surge of bitterness did not follow, and instead was replaced by a sudden, crushing loneliness. He realised, with a jolt, that nobody in this city actually gave two shits about Dave, about whether he was eating or what he had to say. And no matter how much he told himself that the opposite was true, he really was beginning to miss John a lot. His stupid dorky smile and those damn thick glasses. He tried a different tactic. 

“You punched him in the jaw,” Dave said aloud, “He’s not going to be overly enthusiastic to come back and work with you. Might as well stop half-wishing for it.” He nodded again, accepting this, and started packing his few belongings, and then stopped. He repacked his entire bag, making sure to keep the map down at the bottom of it. _You could never be too careful_ , he thought. 

 

He wordlessly threw the key at the innkeeper, who deftly caught it with the one hand. He left the inn without another word. The streets were practically empty, aside from a thin mist that rose up over the still-dark streets. 

“Everyone’s prolly still at church,” Dave said under his breath. It was weird, not having the chatterbox walking next to him. He pressed on none the less. The town was oddly squat; none of the buildings really got any taller than two stories, and the stone was all dark, and the town smelled like mud and sulphur. It was probably perfectly lovely when the sun came out, but in the half-darkness of the morning, with a few tendrils of mist snaking around people’s ankles, it was downright scary. Dave whistled to keep himself busy. The sound echoed hollowly off the sides of the buildings, and did nothing to help his situation. 

 

“Well, what good Christian citizen of the Township of Ichthys would be out of Church so soon?” Someone materialised out of a dark alleyway in front of Dave. He smelled like tobacco. He was approximately Dave’s height, if a little broader, with a thick scruffy beard, bushy eyebrows, and was clearly missing a few teeth. He was so distracted by this pirate-y looking guy in front of him that he nearly missed the scuffling in the background. 

“Well, you,” Dave offered, “and your bros.” The man in front of him provided a massive, gap toothed grin. 

“Is this the fellow you’re looking for, Sam?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Dave. There was a long silence. 

“No. The little thief had black hair and was at least half his height,” Sam replied eventually. The voice sounded vaguely familiar to Dave, and despite the fact that it lacked both bravado and wisdom, he realised that Sam was the famous McMahon. He also belatedly realised they were looking for John and by extension, the map. He forced himself to keep his face passive, not to give anything away. He also sternly reminded himself that he didn’t care whether or not John got hurt anymore, though he’d had time to cool down and didn’t really care anymore.

“Well, if I’m not who you’re looking for,” Dave started to move past him, but the guy took a closer step in. 

“Not so fast, hot shot,” he said. _Hot shot?_

“No?” Dave replied, the picture of calm. The map weighed heavy in the bottom of his pack.

“No,” He said, taking another step towards him. Dave refused to move. 

“And why not?” he asked cooly. 

“Because I said so,” the guy answered, the gap in his teeth proudly on display. There was a tense pause. Dave moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. 

“We’re not going to have any problems, are we?” Dave asked. The guy’s eyes flicked down to the monster of a sword he had for only the briefest of moments, his own hand moving halfway to his own concealed knife. 

 

That was enough. Dave drew his sword, and cut out wildly. The man had managed to grab his dagger, and had jumped back slightly. Dave slashed out again, managing a large slash in the man’s chest. The man went down, desperately throwing his little knife at Dave, who dodged it. There was suddenly a sharp pain in his side, and he looked down to see his own blood oozing out with worrying vivacity. He gritted his teeth and turned to the culprit; a woman with her hair cut short and one eye missing. She was better armed, with a long curved sword that was distinctly and obviously foreign. She sliced at him again, and he managed to block it, when he saw McMahon out of the corner of his eye going for him. He hadn’t shaved since the last time they’d met, and was looking extremely scruffy. Dave could see that much before he was ducking out of the way of his dirty great big sword, and stumbling backwards over the groaning third one. In the split second his attention was on not falling over, McMahon slashed at his leg. Dave doubled over instinctively, and the girl slammed the hilt of her sword on the back of his head. 

 

Lights popped before his vision, and the next thing he knew he was on the floor. McMahon stood over him, his blade aimed over his chest. Dave managed to roll away, grabbing his sword as he went, and sliced at the various shins around him. As he was getting to his feet, McMahon managed to aim a kick at his ribs that sent him sprawling again. He tried to get up a third time, struggling against the bruises and various pains beginning to make themselves heard, when the girl stabbed the discarded knife into Dave’s shoulder. He bit back a cry of pain, and suddenly his nose was broken, red flowing out of it, and suddenly he couldn’t move. 

 

He was vaguely aware of the sensation of being searched, and some coins being taken out of his pocket. He was also vaguely aware of the pain that was everywhere, in his legs and his head and his face and his chest and his side and his shoulder. And then he was aware of the fact that everywhere was red, covered in blood and stinking of half-worked metal. He blinked and they were gone. Had taken only their groaning friend. _Get up, Dave. Nobody’s going to come and save you_ , he told himself. 

 

He decided to slip into oblivion instead. 

 

* * *

 

Hell was pleasantly warm. This was the first thing that Dave thought was odd. He knew that, for various reasons, he’d be going to Hell when he died, and he would hate it. But this wasn’t hot, not like the Smith’s shop had been hot. It wasn’t cold either, so he wasn’t lying out on the road where the bandits had left him, so he wasn’t alive. It was way too nice to be purgatory. Not quite nice enough for him to be back home in bed. Despite the warmth he shivered a little, and suddenly there was a thick, warm something being pulled up to his chin. And then there was a cold hand on his forehead, stroking up into his hair. It was so gentle, so fucking _gentle_ and Dave didn’t know what to do with it. So he slipped back into oblivion, deciding he had somehow made it to heaven, comfortable enough to sleep a while longer. 

 

When he woke up properly, he realised with equal parts relief and annoyance that he had not in fact died and gone to heaven, but was still stuck on earth. He cracked open his eyes, taking in the curved cave roof above him, and the few tendrils of smoke that got caught there. He blinked a little, remembering slowly first the argument with John, then the fight with the thieves. He suddenly felt very afraid and tried to push himself up, but just about every part of his body loudly informed him that this was a terrible idea and he shouldn’t attempt it again. He lay back down with a soft groan. It was only then that he heard the sniffling, almost too quiet to hear under the crackling of the fire. He looked over to see John, sitting a few feet away from him. His back was jerking weirdly, and he had his face buried in his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. He blinked again, noticing now that his shades were gone, and sitting a little distance away, folded up neatly. When did John get here?

 

“John?” he called out uncertainly. He sounded like he’d swallowed a jar of nails. John’s head shot up, and he quickly moved himself closer to Dave, a startled smile sitting on his face and contrasting the red rimmed eyes in a strange and incredible way. He scrubbed aggressively at his face. 

“Dave, hey, hey,” he said quietly. Dave swallowed slowly, every part of him feeling sluggish. 

“Hey,” he said back. John’s smile slowly slipped off his face, and ceased to exist. There was a long, strange silence as Dave struggled for words. 

“Why is it that _you_ always end up bloody and _I_ have to take care of your dumb ass?” John asked eventually, forcing a smile. Dave laughed a little.

“We can swap next time if you like,” he said quietly.

“When did you get here?” Dave asked after a while. John let out a shaky, not-quite-there laugh. 

“I felt really bad after our dumb fight,” he said, resting his cheek on his bent knee, “and I wanted to…I dunno. Apologise? But not until the morning after. So I went looking for you, and found you lying in the street in a pool of your own blood.” John looked like he was on the brink of tears again, and Dave reached his good arm up to wipe gently at the tear tracks already there. He noticed the large yellow bruise on John’s jaw, and felt extremely guilty. 

“McMahon’s looking for you,” Dave mumbled, and was surprised when John heard him, much less understood him. 

“McMahon did this?” John asked, face screwing up in some description of indignity. Dave’s chest ached slightly at the sight of it, at the fact that despite Dave having hit him, screamed at him, and then scared the shit out of him, John still got angry on Dave’s behalf. All he did was nod numbly. 

“Him and some toothless hobo and weird lady,” he said, his throat dry. There was a short pause as John processed this. 

“They were looking for you,” Dave repeated, not sure if John had gotten that part of the sentence. John nodded absently. 

“Looking for the map,” Dave added. John just kept nodding, staring off into space. His chest ached slightly in a way that was completely unrelated to the fight he’d just gotten into, and he sighed. They both spoke at the same time: 

“I’m sorry tha-” 

“I’m sorry I y-“

 

They stopped, and despite everything laughed a little, breathlessly and lightly. Like it was little more than the smoke curling above their heads. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Dave tried again, and John looked slightly startled, “I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have hit you either, like, who the fuck hits their friends? Assholes, that’s who. You just did what you always do and tried to help, like some sorta fairytale hero who got sick of his own book and wandered out into real life, and is all like ‘Damn, this world is a-‘“ Dave stopped himself, realising he’d been rambling, and that it was really hurting his chest. He tried again, “I’m sorry.” John’s eyes were welling up again, but he was smiling in a genuine sort of way. It only added to the weird ache in his chest. 

“I forgive you,” he said quietly, “and I’m sorry too. You’re right. You can’t save everyone in the world,” he said quietly. 

“Well, we can try,” Dave offered. John just nodded, pushing some of the hair out of Dave’s face. 

 

It hit him then, the realisation that this was not normal. Not something to be ignored. He couldn’t think of a single thing about John that was worthy of hating, not one thing that wasn’t sunshine and wonder and sheer fucking loveliness. Every foot, every inch, every millimetre of him was filled with kindness and beauty so incomprehensible that Dave had to compare him to myths and legends. And Dave loved him. He loved the way his bedhead looked, and he loved the mis-matched angle of his teeth, and he loved his laugh like a sword against a whetstone, and he loved the fact that it was all contained in a small space, and he loved the sheer miracle that despite everything, despite his father’s death and his closest friend’s arrest and his next closest friend’s betrayal, that despite all of that, John was like the stars on a warm night. It scared him a little, with the weight and truth and the chaos of it all, but he loved John. 

 

_He loved, he loves, he’ll love him forever._

 

“So,” John asked after a pause that might have been a thousand years and might have been a second, “do you have room for me in your posse?” 

“I dunno,” Dave said as his eyes slid shut, being awake suddenly taking up too much energy, “you might have to schedule an appointment with my paige.” John snorted a little, and lay down next to him. Dave realised then that he had taken John’s mega blanket, and John had his shitty little sheet. They lay there in silence a while. 

“Yeah,” Dave said, “we can team up again. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” John hummed in agreement. 

“Goodnight, Dave,” John said. 

“Night, John,” Dave replied. 

_I love you_. 

 

* * *

 

They hid in the cave a while, Dave healing frustratingly slowly and John being gone for lengths of time. Dave had really picked up some new scars in the fight; a large gash on his side, a puncture wound in his shoulder, another large gash on his leg, and some bruising on his ribs. John said that he didn't think Dave had broken anything except the nose, which would probably heal eventually. Dave had just shrugged. 

“The ladies love a guy with scars,” he’d said. John had just laughed. 

“If you say so, Mr. Suave.” 

 

Every day, when John came home with water or food or whatever, the same discussion happened; 

“John,” Dave would say, “Let’s just fuck off. I’m tired of sleeping in the goddamn cave like I’m some sort of shitty animal.” 

“Dave,” John would reply, “you can barely walk, and I’m not carrying you.” Dave couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and so he’d lie back down and go to sleep. 

 

They spent about five days in that cave, before Dave put his foot down, telling him that it was only another two day’s walk, and that if he spent any more time in the fucking cave, he would loose his fucking mind. John, surprisingly, relented. They packed up, and moved out, Dave limping slightly and John carrying a good deal of the weight in Dave’s pack. 

 

As they left the town, Dave got a strange sort of nostalgia. It was like everything had changed, and yet, everything was the same. _Maybe that’s just how life works,_ Dave thought, and wrapped the coat that John had graciously bought him tighter around himself. _Maybe that’s just how life works._


	8. Chapter 8: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mermaids are beautiful. They are dangerous. They are beautiful because they are dangerous, and dangerous because they are beautiful. They remind John of Dave in that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but here it is! I hope you enjoy yourselves, because I have more bad news....
> 
> I have exams coming up, and because the school system I'm in is very confusing, these actually effect what College I can apply to. So I'm going to have to put most of my energy into that. :C
> 
> Don't expect an update until maybe May? Mid-May? Even then, I'm doing coursework. May. Late May. 
> 
> But yeah, savour this one!

They made it to Pailtown without further incident. The whole way, John had been worried about Dave keeling over and collapsing (he swears he wasn’t that pale before), or for his wounds to reopen (he wasn’t too confident about the job he did of dressing them), or for McMahon to return with his posse and to kill them both. However, whether it was good luck or the universe finally deciding to take pity on them, none of those things happened. In fact, it was like nothing had happened at all. Dave wouldn’t shut his dumb trap about anything, and just kept talking and talking and talking. John offered a nod now and then, the straps of his overfilled pack cutting into his shoulders. 

 

The trees were becoming more and more sparse, and though John barely noticed it, there was a slight incline to the ground. Dave had been significantly slowed down by his various wounds, and so it wasn’t too much of a headache. Soon, the trees ended all together, and framed what John thought may have been the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. 

 

It was peaceful. It was serene. On the left hand side, a body of water so large that John didn’t actually manage to see the edges of it stretched out, huge and blue. To the right of that, a massive grey rock face reached jaggedly into the sky, its peaks disappearing into the clouds. And nestled in the middle of it, tiny and sprawling, was a town that wasn’t dissimilar to Sburb. The houses slumped in a way that suggested they were hastily built, and nothing was much taller than a story or so. Light reflected of the multitude of roofs, all made of some sort of cheap, patchwork of metal. There were no walls marking its boundaries or keeping out raiders, or guards patrolling the perimeter. Just a large watch tower, rising high and strong and made out of stone, climbing up, up, up out of the ground. 

“Wow,” John breathed, looking over it again. He suddenly felt very, very small. 

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. They stood there a while longer, before spurred into action and continued on the last leg of their journey. 

 

The town was bigger than it seemed, but perhaps all perspective and points of reference were blown out of proportion by the mass of the land around them. The town was surprisingly busy, old women wandering around with their baskets of shopping and scarves tied around their heads, little kids laughing and chasing after one another, a small gaggle of girls talking animatedly about something or other, a candlemaker wiping down his waxy hands on a cloth. It was homey, John thought. It was nice. The boys were met with some suspicious stares, and it wasn’t long before a large woman in some description of armour walked up to them. 

“Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was deep, and the words came slowly, and the vowels stretched out in a strange sort of way. John blinked at the sudden change in accent, thinking about it for too long. 

“We’re adventurers,” Dave said finally. If this surprised the woman, she didn’t show it. 

“And what, might I ask, are a pair of skinny little heroes doing so far off the beaten track?” she asked, her hand slowly drifting to her sword. Dave mirrored her movement, but John just rolled his eyes. 

“We’re looking for a Dragon,” he said, gently putting a hand on Dave’s arm to stop him picking another fight he couldn’t finish. John nearly got whiplash from how quickly the woman’s attitude changed. 

“You…are here to fight the Dragon of Gara? You’re going to fight _Armageddon_?” she asked, her voice low and filled with awe. All around them, the commotion stopped. John shifted anxiously from foot to foot. 

“Well, yeah,” he said, “unless we can’t?” 

“Nobody has ever tried,” the woman said, shaking her head. 

“Well, we’ve fought a bunch of monsters before,” John said, shrugging. 

“We killed a gorgon,” Dave offered. 

“We killed a gorgon,” John confirmed. 

“A gorgon is not a Dragon,” someone yelled from the crowd. The crowd parted wordlessly to allow an elderly man to hobble forward, glaring at them with a mixture of contempt and hatred, “A gorgon can be killed by any well made sword wielded well enough. But to kill a Dragon. It’s impossible. Metal melts under its touch.” Dave’s sharp intake of breath indicated that this was a very very bad thing indeed. 

“So, there’s no way to kill it?” he asked. There was a long pause. 

“What about the Sapphire?” A young girl asked somewhere in the crowd. She was met by a sharp hiss, which probably meant something like ‘shut up’.

“What about the sapphire?” John asked, eyes scanning the crowd. He managed to catch sight of a young girl in the crowd, being sternly reprimanded by her mother. Her eyes were grey and glazed over, and if John had to guess, he’d say she was blind. 

“Come on, young lady,” John said, crouching down and holding out a hand. She turned towards his voice, “I won’t hurt you.” She struggled out of her mother’s grip and wandered over, bumping into John’s knee and leaning on it. She pulled on his shirt, gesturing for him to come closer. 

“My mother says it is a secret,” she whispered. 

“I promise not to tell,” John whispered back. He’d always thought himself quite good with kids. He guessed it was because of his vaguely non-threatening pudge, but that seemed to be irrelevant here. 

“In the lake there’s a big big sapphire,” she whispered, “it belongs to my mother, but she says that she gave it to them, in return for my father.” 

“Who’s them?” John asked. She shushed him harshly, awkwardly patting his face until she found his nose, and giving it a hard tweak. Dave laughed behind him. 

“The _mermaids,”_ she hissed, “it belongs to the mermaids. Father wasn’t happy with mother when he found out about that one. He said it had to be used by a strong strong hero to slay the Dragon.” John nodded, standing back up and ruffling the girl’s hair. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. Dave looked at him in a way that was weirdly filled with awe, and something else that was huge and warm and difficult to place. But as soon as it’d started, it was over, and Dave was shooting him a questioning glance. John just shrugged in a way that he hoped looked like ‘I’ll tell you later’. 

“Well, Dragon or not, we do need somewhere to stay for the night,” John said, still addressing the town. Nobody moved. 

“Don’t all volunteer at once,” he said, smiling in his most charming way. He managed a weak chuckle out of the crowd. 

“I will take them,” someone finally said. There was a collective sigh from the crowd, and they went back about their daily tasks. 

 

The woman who’d volunteered, a pale girl with shocking red hair, led them back to a small inn, with just the one floor. 

“One room is three bronze for one night,” she said with a sigh, and waited less than patiently for John to fork over the change. John put down his pack and startled rifling through it, managing to pull out the sack of change that they had left over after Dave got robbed. He sighed. 

“How many copper to gold?” he asked Dave. Dave shrugged. 

“I think it’s like…five copper to a silver, and then nine silver to a gold. So…uh…Fifty?” he asked. 

“Forty five,” the woman said, bored. John huffed a sigh. 

“How long are we planning on staying here?” He asked. Dave gave another shrug. 

“Bout a week? Probably more?” he offered. John sighed. They only had a few gold pieces left, between the clothes buying and the robbing and general spending, and John was hoping to spend that on food. 

“I guess we’re sharing a room,” John said with a sigh, handing over a gold piece. The woman looked slightly perturbed by this disappointment. 

“You were planning on sleeping separately?” she asked, handing them their change. 

“Yeah,” John said slowly. 

“So you two are not…” she trailed off, gesturing to them vaguely. John caught on, and let himself laugh a little. 

“No, no,” he said, and ignored the stabbing disappointment that came with it, “Just friends.” The woman broke into a wide grin. 

“That is a relief,” she said, laughing, “we all assumed you were _gay._ ” The way she spat out the word like it was the worst slur imaginable made his stomach curdle like old milk. He just grinned his way through it, hoping for a little more friendliness after this.

“Oh, God forbid!” John said, grimacing a little. The woman laughed, handing him a room key. 

“Well,” she said, speaking to Dave now, “there is always extra room in my bed, if you would like.” Dave turned a healthy shade of red, sputtering a little. John laughed, nudging him a little, and trying to ignore the creeping sense of jealousy he felt. 

 

John liked Dave. A lot. The realisation had come on slowly, morphing from ‘he is attractive’ to ‘I find him attractive’ to ‘I can imagine kissing him’ to finally ‘I want to kiss him’. The last part had happened sometime in the cave, when Dave was still struggling to sit up and was more grumpy than ever about being stuck on his back. He looked at John and moaned and griped for a solid forty five minutes, before eventually tiring himself out and falling asleep. John had laughed, his chest hurting with how endearing he was. Before he’d been able to fully stop himself, he’d leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dave’s forehead, allowing himself to stay there a while with a guilty sort of happiness. John sighed, knowing that this couldn’t go anywhere. No, more than that, it _shouldn’t_ go anywhere. The last time this had happened, his innermost secret had been told to everyone in the town. Who knows what would happen the next time? On top of this, he’d already lost Dave, and been completely miserable without him. If he did anything about it, if he did anything to Dave, he’d loose him for good. And then where would he be? 

  
So, ignoring the burning in his chest and the churning in his stomach, John pushed Dave towards the girl. But to his complete shock, Dave opened his mouth and the following sentence came tumbling out:

“Maybe another time, dollface,” he drawled, lifting up his shirt to gesture to the bandage wrapped around his middle, “I’m a little torn up at the moment.” She winced sympathetically, laying a hand on Dave’s forearm. 

“Maybe when you are better,” she agreed. Dave started to move away, but not before the woman caught him by the front of his tunic and pulled him in for a messy, loud kiss. John watched, eyes wide, and finally decided to leave when the noises started getting particularly gross. 

 

The room was small, but large enough to fit a decently sized bed and a decently sized fireplace. That was a welcome sight, because this close to the lake everything felt damp, and the cold managed to creep right down into your soul. He piled some of the logs supplied onto the fireplace, and had a cheery fire going in no time at all. He poked at it, sitting alone a while before Dave came in, slamming the door behind him. John glanced up at him, and laughed at the mixture of lipstick stains all over his face, coupled with the look of sheer panic. 

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath. 

“I hope you were careful, Dave,” John said seriously, “I don’t think we could afford to carry a kid around with us for the rest of the quest.” Dave made a face, and threw a pillow at John. It hit him in the face with a vaguely satisfying ‘flump’. 

“Dude,” Dave said, coming to sit next to John, “she kissed like a goddam _fox.”_

“Dave! Ew! I don’t want to know!”

“No, I mean, a literal fox. You know the predator with sharp teeth and is always eating corpses like a guilty thing? That.” John laughed, loudly and for a long time.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled eventually, wiping away the tears that had gotten squeezed out of his eyes in the process of laughing at Dave. 

“It’s not that funny,” Dave grumbled. 

“It _so_ is,” John replied, grinning. They sat in silence a little while, enjoying being indoors again. 

“Dude, seriously though, she was an absolute bitch,” Dave said finally. John was slightly taken aback. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“That whole thing she had about you being gay, man, how can you stand that?” he asked. Dave sounded genuinely offended, and it made John smile a little. He gave him a one shouldered shrug. 

“It’s like that pretty much everywhere,” John said looking for patterns in the fire, “If I start getting picky, I’ll just end up homeless.” There was a long silence, and John opened his mouth to apologise for something, when Dave finally threw his arm amiably around his shoulders. 

“You can always sleep in the attic of my massive house when this is all over,” he said, “I mean, that shit’ll be big enough to fit a goddamn army. Which I could probably buy. Just keep a whole fucking army in my basement, send them the scraps of food off my table.” John laughed. 

“What would your wife say about that?” he asked, looking up at Dave. 

“Probably”-here, Dave put on that ridiculous falsetto again-“‘Wow, Dave, this sure is a huge ass army’ and then ‘let’s go have wild sex’.” John laughed a little, ignoring the twisting, gurgling jealousy deep in his gut. 

“What does the future Mrs. Strider look like?” John asked, unable to stop himself. _Why did you ask him?_ he thought angrily, _nothing good can come of that question!_

“Uh,” Dave said, leaning back, “she’s got _huge_ tits. Like, seriously. Shit probably weighs the mass of a couple of medium sized dogs.” 

“Aw man! That _can’t_ be comfortable. Can you imagine like, walking around all day with two dogs stuck to your chest?” 

“John, you’re missing the obvious advantage of having absolutely _massive_ breasts. Man, I’m talking like, enormous-“ 

“Okay, okay!” John laughed shoving him a little. 

“But other than the boobs of fucking _Brobdingnag_ proportions…” Dave trailed off, looking back towards the fire. It was starting to get low. John threw another log on.  
“I always thought she’d be short, I guess. Dark hair. A little fat, I guess, so it looks like she’s having a good time, just doing whatever the fuck she wants. And she’s funny, as long as she’s funny then we’ll get on fine.” John nodded absently. It struck him, suddenly, that this was the second last part of their adventure together. After they had their treasure, would they ever see each other again? Would Dave ever write? Would Dave even remember him between him and his wife? John was halfway to voicing this, but decided against it, eventually settling on: 

“She sounds like one great lady.” There was a long silence. 

 

“So what did that kid tell you?” Dave asked eventually. John perked up a little, glad for the change in conversation. 

“Okay,” he sighed hoping that he would remember it all, “Apparently there’s some sort of sapphire that-“ 

“Sapphires are the blue ones?” John was startled to find that he’d almost been anticipating the question. Did they really know each other that well? It’d barely been a month.

“-Yeah. Anyway, there’s one at the bottom of that huge ass lake. Apparently it can help us kill the Dragon. Maybe it…enchants the sword? Yeah, that would work! It’s probably an enchantment stone.” Dave’s eyebrows screwed up in confusion. 

“What the fuck is an enchantment stone?” he asked grumpily. John blinked at him. 

“Dude, you like, make swords! All of the swords the Blacksmith sent out had the notch for enchantment stones,” John said, more than a little annoyed at the skepticism. 

“Bullshit,” Dave said, pulling out his own sword to inspect it, “there’s no way. I’ve made at least eight thousand fucking swords, and I have _never_ put a notch in them. I mean, like, seriously. It’s practically a dead goddamn horse, with how useful that would be.” John rolled his eyes. 

“Dude, you’ve met two witches, and have fought a fucking demon. Why is a magic rock so hard to believe!” he asked, looking over Dave’s hilt. 

“Because I have literally never heard of one before, much less a secret fucking hole stuck into the-“ 

“This is an enchantment notch!” John said, pointing to a large, octagonal indent on the bottom of Dave’s hilt. Dave squinted at it. He looked at John. He squinted at it again. 

“I thought that was just for decoration,” he grumbled to himself. 

“It’s not,” John said, “you stick a stone in there, and depending on the stone, good stuff happens to you.” 

“Alright,” Dave sighed, obviously resigned to the fact that, okay, maybe weird shit happened, “and it’s at the bottom of that lake?” he asked. John nodded. Dave seemed to cheer up a little, from what John could tell in the subtle shifting of his expression. 

“Well, that’s not so bad,” he offered. John winced. 

“Yeah, it gets worse. There are mermaids in that lake. And not the hot ones,” John added, watching Dave’s face light up hopefully, “they’ve got like, razor sharp claws and stuff. Scary.”

“Of course,” Dave said, scrubbing at his face a little, “of course that this stupid fucking riddle leads us to the only town in the world where there are Dragons, mermaids, and goddamn ice people in the same place.” Dave threw a log on the fire. 

“Hey, it could be worse,” John said, punching Dave amiably on the shoulder. Dave looked at him, humming in question. 

“We could be dead!” he said finally. Dave smiled a little, laughing under his breath. 

“Alright. Okay. We could be dead.” 

 

After sending John out to bring them back hot food (Dave having been too afraid to face their hostess again), and eating it over a surprisingly heated discussion of whether it was better to fly or have super speed, they collapsed into bed. Having spent most of their time in close quarters by now, the single bed didn’t bother them much. Making sure to leave a good amount of space between them, John curled up and slowly fell asleep, listening to the soft sound of Dave’s breathing 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, they woke up, got dressed, quickly scarfed down a breakfast whilst the girl’s brother was at the front of the store, and hot-footed it off to the path down to the lake. The closer they got, the more nervous John became. He suddenly realised that they had no plan, per se, or any way of dealing with it if things went wrong. Come to think of it, how exactly was he planning on staying down there long enough to find the sapphire, much less fight the mermaids off for it? He glanced up at Dave, who was eerily silent. He cleared his throat. 

“So I was thinking,” John said slowly, “about how we were going to find the sapphire? Like, I dunno about you, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold my breath that long.” Dave just gave a non committal shrug. John guessed that he was just a little worried.

“Magic?” he offered facetiously. John rolled his eyes. That wasn’t how magic worked. Not his powers at least. I mean, how c-

 

Wait. Dave might be onto something there. He wasn’t sure if it would work though. 

 

Sooner than John would have liked, they were at the water’s edge. The bank was empty, aside from a hugely long jetty with hundreds of rowboats tied to it. 

“Okay,” John started, “I have a theory on how we’re going to stay under so long.” 

“Great,” he said disinterestedly. 

“So,” John said, taking off his shoes, “In theory, at least, I should be able to make like, a sphere of air around us, so we can breathe and talk and stuff…” he trailed off. Dave nodded. John let out a small breath, hoping to high heaven that this would work. 

 

He waved his hands around vaguely, and the wind picked up slightly. It sort of collected in a denser spot around his hands, a strange sort of wispy cloud substance orbiting the outside. It felt weird. It felt like nothing at all, intangible and incorporeal as mist or smoke. John looked up at Dave, who was just staring. John sighed, and slipped the thing over his head. He found it surprisingly easy to breathe, and looked at Dave, shock all over his face. 

“It works! Dave! I’m a genius,” he said. Dave said something, which was distorted by the ball of air around his head. 

“Sorry?” he let it dissipate. 

“I said are you sure you’re alright to do this?” Dave asked, and John was sure he hadn’t imagined the concern in his voice. He snorted. 

“I’m in better condition than you! Now c’mon. Strip. Clothes’ll only slow you down,” he said, pulling off his increasingly large shirt and emptying his pockets. Dave just watched him. An uneasy sort of feeling creeped into his stomach. 

“Dave?” he asked, “is everything…alright?” 

“Oh, I can’t swim,” Dave said, as casually as you like.

“What?” John asked, equally as calm. 

“I can’t swim. Never learned,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“And you’re telling me this _now?_ ” John cried, the incredulity finally catching up. 

“You never asked,” Dave shrugged, “You’ll be fine.” 

 

John looked towards the lake, huge and still, stretching out in front of him. It glittered slightly in what little sunlight broke through the clouds, and John wondered how he would manage to see anything down there at all. He glanced over at Dave again, the cold air making him shiver slightly. Dave sighed. 

“Look, man, I’ll be right here,” he said, putting a warm hand (how were his hands always so warm?) on his shoulder. John nodded a little. 

“Welp, here goes,” he said with half a grin. He recollected his orb of air, placed it over his head and walked into the lake before he could think. As soon as his feet touched the water, he let out a cry of pain.  
“It’s fucking freezing!” he yelled to Dave. Dave just shrugged, as if to say, ‘what’re you gonna do?’. John turned back to the lake, instinctively took a deep breath, and ducked his head under the water. 

 

It worked like a charm. It was a little difficult to see, at first, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, the water was just clear enough to allow him to see a few feet in front of him, but then it collapsed into a dark-teal murk, like an unclean window or maybe smoke in the distance. He kicked a little, finding the sensation of breathing despite how weightless he felt incredibly disquieting. He looked up, seeing a reflection of himself against the ripples he made, and couldn’t help but grin. MM would be proud. 

 

Down he swam, and still he didn’t see the bottom. How he was meant to find anything down here, let alone one small sapphire, he didn’t know. It was just starting to get too dark to see anything when the lights went up. 

 

They were beautiful. They were terrifying. They were innocent in a monstrous sort of way. The mermaids came out of nowhere, their fishtails moving in a gentle swaying motion. Their hair shifted around them, like a strange sort of halo, moving and dancing slowly in the water. The lights that he saw were small colonies of…something growing on their backs and hands, that glowed brighter than the moon in shades of blue, green, and purple. It was breathtaking. John wasn’t sure where they came from, but in the light that they cast he saw that he was close to the floor. He stayed a good distance above them, hoping that they wouldn’t look up. They were beautiful, but John didn’t miss the way their claws, long as knives and twice as sharp, glinted in the glow they gave off. He kicked forward gently, scanning the floor for anything solid and blue. 

 

The lakebed was weirdly lumpy and uneven, and John managed to see that this was because of the things half buried there in the sand. Statues, coins, clothes, everything was covered in sand and randomly scattered around in the water. In among the treasure, there were rib cages, human skulls, bits of hair or bone left over from whoever they’d drowned. John cursed under his breath, it meant that he would have to get closer to find something valuable on this floor. He swam a little further down, the pressure starting to weigh heavy on his limbs. Mermaids swam around aimlessly, bumpinginto one another and chattering in a strange high-pitched noise. John’s heart was thrumming in his chest, and he was certain that they could hear him, that he would be found out. A collective silence fell over the lake. John hardly dared to move. 

 

That was when they started singing; more pure and angelic than any church choir he’d ever heard. The music echoed around the lake, filling the water with their etherial music, like chimes or bells. John was so engrossed that he didn’t notice one of them looking up, her hair slicking back against her head. John made eye contact, and suddenly her mouth was full of long, curved fangs, and her eyes were filled in with shadows, and her music had become screaming, high and terrible. 

 

_Time’s up._

 

She launched herself at John, screaming the whole time. He only just managed to get out of her way, but she was quickly followed by her friend, who slashed at John’s exposed stomach. The wounds weren’t particularly deep, but red curled out in the water around him anyway. In a panic, he splayed out his hands, and the two mermaids were swept away by a current suddenly there, much in the same way that John had been propelled backwards and away from his bubble of air. He quickly drew it back around him, coughing up the water he’d inhaled accidentally. 

 

That, he thought, was a much better way of getting around. All he had to do was focus on keeping his life-support over his face. He looked back down, and not a moment too soon, as he quickly ducked out of the way of another screaming mermaid. She got her claws into his side, but it wasn’t much more than a graze. He needed to hurry. There was only so long he’d be able to keep this up, and he hadn’t seen anything vaguely octagonal all since he’d plunged down here-

 

And that was either when his luck ran out, or kicked in. In the distance, he saw one mermaid, with pale skin and paler hair, swimming as fast as she could away from him. In her hand was something that flashed blue. He took a shot in the dark, and shot after her. She seemed to sense his coming, because she redoubled in her efforts, swerving and sliding and banking as hard as she could. John managed to keep up, his fingertips getting closer and closer, and just when he managed to grab onto her tail fin and give it a solid yank, someone slammed into his side, sending him tumbling. His bubble floated off, and just when he managed to get it back on his head, a pair of jaws clamped around his calf. John cried out in agony, kicking wildly to get the creature off him. But it really had a good grip in him, and would not be perturbed. It started snapping its head around, shaking John like a dog shakes a scrap of cloth, and that was when his concentration waned and he lost the bubble in earnest. 

 

Now, he was really up against the clock. He saw, through the murk, the sapphire lying in the sand, glowing gently in the dark water. He grabbed for it, but he was shaken away by the creature with the death grip on his calf. He splayed his hands outwards, and caught the monster in its face. It was dazed for a moment, but that was all he needed. He grabbed at the sapphire and started swimming up, and up, and up. He swore that the lake was not half as deep as this earlier. He could feel the mob of mermaids behind him, still screaming high and terrible. His lungs were burning, but he finally reached the surface, spluttering and gasping for breath in the middle of the lake. He started paddling towards the bank, but several hands grabbed at his feet, dragging him back down.

 

He got a mouthful of water, and when he tried to cough it up, it was only replaced with another mouthful, and then another, and another. _This_ , John thought, _is the worst way to die_. He thrashed wildly, pushing water jets in a menagerie of directions and watching hopelessly as the surface of the water grew further and further away. The edges of his vision began to grow dark, his limbs un responsive. With what little strength he had left, in a random, split second in which there were no hands on him, he pushed himself upwards and towards the bank. He went shooting through the water before landing jarringly on the sand. 

 

He crawled up and away from the water’s edge, pain shooting through his calf. He coughed up water, buckets and buckets of water, cringing at the way it climbed up his throat like bile. When he finally managed a proper breath, it was raspy and painful, but the oxygen flooded through his system like pure relief. He lay there a while, the sand coarse against his skin, coughing and throwing up water next to his face. 

“John!” Dave called, but his voice was strangely far away. John opened his mouth to say something back, but got a mouthful of wet sand instead. 

“John? You with me? Hey, hey, c’mon, man, c’mon,” he said, gently placing a hand on John’s back, on his shoulder. John nodded weakly as dave rolled him more onto his side than his front, and he took a few deep breaths before continuing. 

“I got the gem,” he managed hoarsely, holding it up for inspection. He didn’t have much energy, and his arm soon flopped listlessly down onto the sand again.

“I don’t give two shits about the gem,” Dave said, sounding slightly panicked, “man, are you okay?” It was then that John started shaking, the already freezing water cooling in the breeze blowing through. He rolled over onto his back, propping himself up to asses the damage. His main body was fine, but his legs had been torn to ribbons. He groaned, letting himself lie back in the sand, the sting in his legs reminding him that he had been extremely, no, _terrifyingly_ close to shark bait. 

“You would’ve loved it, Dave,” he managed, his voice still as fragile as glass, like mist that could get blown away. Dave just raised an eyebrow at him, and John wondered how in hell he’d managed to keep his glasses. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” and John managed a small smile, “none of the ladies wore shirts!” 

 

John had run ashore a long way away from where he’d started. Dave brought over John’s shoes and shirt and coat, because by then John was shivering in earnest, his teeth chattering to the point where he barely even bothered speaking, because it was difficult to understand what he was saying. John limply let Dave dress him, was half aware of a shirt being wrapped around the worse off leg, and then his arms were loosely wrapped around Dave’s shoulders, and he was being piggybacked in a weirdly gentle way. John didn’t like his chances of walking, with the claw marks and the huge bite and the general slightly blue tinge to his skin, and he was really exhausted for some reason anyway. In the back of his hazy, foggy mind, John thought about how funny Dave was when he was concerned, or worried, or whatever. Every few seconds he would glance over at John, where he had his head rested on Dave’s shoulder, and ask the same question:

“You doing alright, John?” 

And John would reply: 

“Been better. But hey, at least I’m breathing air!”

 

He couldn’t say he’d ever been carried before, but it wasn’t a wholly unpleasant experience. Plus, Dave was really warm against his frigid skin, and his whole back was plastered to John’s chest. Overall, it was a nice way to spend about thirty minutes. 

 

John held tight to the sapphire the whole way home. 

 

* * *

 

 

He’d been half expecting questions when they got back, what with John bleeding gently and Dave literally carrying him, but the hostess’s brother just took it in his stride. 

“Mermaids?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” John said, tiredly. The man gave half a smile, and went back to organising whatever he’d been organising. 

“You did better than most,” he said. They chose to ignore the disturbing, cryptic compliment, and just headed straight back to their room. Dave deposited John on the bed, and John was sure he’d never felt something so comfy in his life. 

 

Dave pulled the now blood-soaked shirt off John’s leg, and stood around, looking helpless. John snorted. 

“Go get some water to boil, and buy some fresh bandages,” he said. Dave nodded, and was off like a rabbit. John, in the mean time, gently pulled himself to his feet, and stripped out of his damp clothes. He relied on the wall to hold most of his weight, but he eventually managed to get into clean, dry clothes. He had just managed to get the fire to light, sitting with a blanket draped over his shoulders and his back resting on the foot of the bed, when Dave hurried back into the room, a bucket and several slightly unraveled rolls of bandage in his arms. He set it down gently, and locked the door behind him. 

“Now stick the water on the fire,” John said, like he was coaxing a five year old through the steps. Dave stuck the bucket on the fire. John went to rub his hands, but remembered that he was carrying the sapphire he’d near died for. 

“Gimmie your sword,” he said, gesturing . 

“Please would be nice,” Dave grumbled, but pulled out the sword and handed it to John. John rested it on his good leg, fitting the still glowing sapphire in with a satisfying click. A moment passed, and the sword seemed to hum with energy, a shimmer travelling up and down the blade. 

“Holy shit,” Dave said under his breath, and John had to agree. He opened his mouth to say something, but that was when the bucket started boiling over, water hissing on the fire and steam rising into the room. For want of a better solution, Dave used the sword to gently pull the bucket off the fire. They waited a while, so their hands wouldn’t get burned handling the various hot things that had to come out of the bucket. The first was a mug (stolen-“borrowed, John, I’m gonna give it back eventually”- from the lobby), filled with hot water and a little honey. John drank it gratefully. 

“Alright, roll up your trouser leg,” Dave said, wringing out a wash cloth he’d just submerged in the water, “Let’s see what kinda shark bite you managed to get.” John rolled it up, and grimaced. There was a very neat set of puncture wounds on both sides of his leg, curved in the shape of a mouth. Dave let out a low whistle. 

“Ow,” he said empathetically. John nodded. 

“Y’know, the other ones are pretty shallow, and ought to sort themselves out,” he said, nudging the glasses further up his nose, “This is the only one that’s like, serious.” 

“You got lucky,” Dave said quietly, and John wasn’t sure if he was talking to him, or to himself. 

“Yeah,” John said, “One of them just like, latched on and started thrashing me around.” Dave winced. 

“That’s one way to secure a husband,” he grinned, but it was thin and barely there. He started cleaning the dried blood around the wound, and John tried his best not to do anything embarrassing like cry out in pain or burst into tears, but just about bit through his cheek avoiding doing either of those. Once the blood had been cleaned off, the would looked a lot better. Dave, after making a meal of it several times, handed the roll of bandage over to John, who promptly patched himself up. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, moving to sit next to John. He shrugged. 

“MM,” he said. They sat in silence a while, before Dave put his arm around John’s shoulders and pulled him against his side. On any other day, John would have resisted. But the intensive panic that had been concentrated into that morning had robbed him of his energy, and he would lie if he said that dave was not a comfortable person to lean on. He burrowed himself in slightly, hoping Dave wouldn’t take offence. 

“Dude,” Dave said eventually, “You were right. It’s a goddamn pain taking care of your dumb ass.”

“Well, you said we could switch!” John said, and Dave let out a low laugh. 

“Doesn’t mean you had to put so much energy and enjoyment into the getting hurt part of this dynamic. I mean, c’mon, John. Help me out here.” John laughed a little, which promptly dissolved into coughing. Dave’s arm tightened around him slightly, and John wasn’t sure if he was aware of it or not. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, once the coughing subsided, “I mean, it could’ve been worse.” 

“You don’t have to remind me,” Dave murmured. John sighed a little. 

“But hey! At least now we have a chance of getting that Dragon,” he said, trying to be cheerful. Dave hummed in agreement.

“So,” Dave said, sighing a little with the sudden enormity of the task, “we hafta find out where this big ass flying lizard lives, work out a way to get up to his little treasure filled home, kill him, take a scale, and get back down all without arousing suspicion.” John nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Can we start, I dunno, tomorrow?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes a little. When Dave didn’t respond, John slowly laboured to his feet, just managing to make it up on the bed before his leg completely gave out. He winced, landing heavily, and catching sight of the blood just starting to seep through the bandage on his calf. There was a long silence. 

“Maybe the day after,” Dave said getting to his feet and heading for the door. 

“Where are you going?” John asked, more than a little offended. 

“To start on the ‘finding the fucking thing’ part of this big ass project,” Dave said, his voice muffled by the fabric of the clean shirt he was tugging on. 

“And leave me here?” John asked incredulously, “What am I gonna do when you’re gone?” 

“Well, what do you normally do when I’m gone?” 

“Go looking for you, because you probably got yourself killed or something!” 

“Well don’t do that, and who was it that nearly drowned today?” John opened his mouth to say something back, but only managed to shut it again. 

“Alright. Fair.” Dave laughed, and John’s chest constricted. 

“Stay here, I’ll be back soon enough,” he said, and shut the door behind him. 

 

John was left with nothing to do. He couldn’t move around. He couldn’t practice the mage work. He couldn’t do anything. So between the warmth of the blanket and the fire, he slowly fell into a deep sleep. 

 

“John, C’mon…Know In There Please…..Right? Ten Feet Tall And Made Of Smoke? You’ve Gotta… Don’t Make It Like … I’m…You…You.”

 

Who’s Saying…?

…?

…Are You Talking About?

My…Something’s Wrong With My Hand…

It’s Too…

Something’s Burning. I Taste Burning…What…

Is That You…?

Did I Do That?

Did I Do That To…?

I Can’t Control It I Can’t Control It I Can’t …

….Sorry

I’m Sorry

I’m Sorry I’m SoRRY I’M SO SO SORRY I’M-

 

And then he was being shaken awake, dragged back into the waking world by the firm pair of warm hands on his shoulders. He jerked awake, sitting up and scrambling backwards despite the shooting pain in his leg. The first thing he saw was a pair of hands, outstretched towards his face. An irrational spike of panic shot through him, but quickly abated when he realised it was only Dave, trying to be calming. John sighed heavily through his nose, scrubbing at his eyes. They were, to his horror, wet with tears. Dave sat down on the bed cautiously. John flashed him a weak smile. 

“What was that about?” Dave asked quietly. 

“Nothing,” John replied hoarsely, “just a nightmare.”There was a long silence, in which it was made obvious that Dave did not believe him. 

“That’s not the first time that’s happened,” he said, scooting closer. John struggled to keep his breathing natural. 

“No,” he agreed. There was another long silence. 

“I mean,” Dave said, “You were thrashing around like a fish on dry land, which isn’t too far off considering how you spent your morning. I mean, you’re practically an honorary fish after that bullshit down at the lake.” John snorted, laughing a little and scrubbing a hand up and down his face, pushing his glasses up weirdly. There was a long silence.

“How often do you get ‘em?” Dave finally asked. John bit his lip, considering lying but deciding against it. Dave probably deserved to know the truth. 

“Every night. Not always as bad as that though,” he added quickly, seeing the look of either terror or fury on Dave’s face. 

“ _Every_ night?” He asked, and yep, alright, he was just angry, “Jesus fucking christ, John! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I don’t remember them when I wake up!” John snapped back, somewhere between defensive and annoyed. He didn’t want another argument, not since the last one left Dave near dead and John in hysterics, but John could look after himself. John could look after himself, and he didn’t need Dave babying him. Dave paused, expression unreadable, and put his hands up in surrender. Apparently, the same thought had struck Dave.

“I’m just worried about you,” he said, sighing a little. John looked down at the sheets, still twisted uncomfortably around his ankles. 

“I know,” he said, “It’s just…I really don’t remember them, Dave.” He thought for a while, trying to find something. He remembered the ground being far, far below him. “All I remember is being ten feet tall.” And he remembers feeling weirdly, strangely incorporeal. “And made of like, air or smoke or something.” There was a thick pause. 

“What the fuck?” Dave said finally. John laughed, hearing himself for the first time. 

“I know,” he said, finally untangling himself from the bedsheets. 

“I was thinking something like spiders or some shit,” Dave said, flopping down on the bed, “When I was like, fucking, five or six years old, I had a dream that I’d been carried off by spiders and then they made me their king, and ate my toes. Let me tell you-stop laughing John, I was scarred for fucking life!- anyway, let me tell you, I did not go near a spiderweb for a solid five years.” John laughed, flopping over on his back, his shoulder crushing Dave’s arm. 

“Jeez,” he sighed, wiping away the tears that had been squeezed out during his fit, “five years?” Dave nodded solemnly. 

“I taped my toes together too,” he said, glancing over at John. He giggled in response. 

 

It shocked him, sometimes, how quickly Dave could put him in a good mood. Just being around him lifted his spirits considerably, and there was rarely a thing Dave could say that would seriously irritate him. He found himself, then, thinking oddly fondly of Dave, and that was only half a step from thinking about him romantically. He had to stop himself there, before he started asking for things he knew he could never have. 

 

_Christ,_ he thought to himself, _I’m in trouble!_

 

No use asking for things he could never have. 

 

“So,” he said, sitting up with some difficulty, little of which had to do with the various wounds he’d received, “what did you find out about our dragon?” Dave shrugged. 

“It lives in the tall ass mountain called ‘Gara’, which apparently is old world language for ‘Death’-uplifting as shit, I know-and its name is Armageddon, which is-“ 

“The end of the world,” John nodded, processing this all calmly. 

“Right. Uh, reports of size vary wildly, but he’s somewhere between the size of the lake and five lakes.”

“Of course.” 

“There’s a story that Moms tell kids about how one day soon Armageddon will come down from the mountain and kill everything, unless they eat their fucking vegetables or some shit.” 

“Reasonable.” 

“And…I think that’s it. Y’know, on top of the whole breathing fire, looking bad ass as fuck, rich as a motherfucker, never touched the ground because it walks on gold, blah blah blah. Pretty much your standard world-ending beast.” 

“And all we have to do is kill it!” John said in mock cheer. Dave snorted. 

“Yeah, home in time for dinner.” 

“Speaking of which, I’m starving,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed. 

“You sure you’re right to walk?” Dave asked. John just gave him a dismissive wave, getting slowly to his feet. He was still struggling to put much weight on the injured leg, but he was able to slowly hobble around without much assistance. Dave was still lying on the bed, watching John with an expression that sat somewhere between admiration and awe. He felt himself flush slightly. 

“C’mon, Dave, I’m starving!” he said, pushing at his shoulders. 

“Alright, alright. Hold your horses,” Dave replied, pushing himself to his feet. They left the fire burning in the room, slowly eating away at the logs left behind. 

 

The inn offered a dinner of bread and stew, and it was good enough. The room was warm and even if most of the locals hadn’t gotten used to them yet, they’d let their kids climb all over them. Dave had been piggybacking one boy who was missing an eye for at least half an hour. He’d put him down, eat some stew, and then the kid would jump back on him, saying something that sounded like a repeated chant of ‘Horse horse horse horse!’. The rest of the kids, a few four year olds or so, were scattered around John’s person, asking questions that didn’t have an answer. He’s sure someone asked him ‘what is your name?’ at least five times, and another one asked him why the sky was blue until John could give a suitably whimsical answer. He was only half paying attention to what he was saying, far more interested in watching Dave attempt to buck this kid off his back. He had the biggest smile slapped over his lanky face, and the kid was laughing like wind chimes. John let a small, fond smile creep onto his face. Dave had the sort of smile that was like a sunrise, full of promise and hope and a million different brilliant colours. John couldn’t help but think to himself _my God, he is beautiful._ And from there, it was only a brief pause before he couldn’t help thinking _I am inexorably in love with him._

 

Eventually the kids were called back to their families, and they were able to eat in peace. 

“Dude,” Dave huffed, sitting down to finally have a proper go at the meal, “he was heavier than he looked.” John laughed, and watched Dave eat, suddenly not feeling very hungry. “Listen, Dave,” he started, and his mouth was still moving even though every fibre of his being was telling him to _stop stop stop stop!_ “I-“ 

 

Suddenly, the tinny, hollow ringing of a lone bell cut through the cool night air. The relatively warm and cheerful atmosphere fell silent in terror. John shared a look with Dave. 

“Church bells?” he offered. John shook his head. He hadn’t seen a church. The bell paused a moment, before picking up again, increasing in urgency. Everyone suddenly stood up, surging towards the door, sweeping Dave and John out onto the street with them. The people of the town were streaming out into the streets, all concentrating into one long, slithering snake of people, concentrating towards the lake.

“What the fuck?” Dave said under his breath, watching in nothing but confusion. John just shook his head, slowly piecing it together. 

 

Short, hastily built houses. Single watch tower, made of stone, and the single, cheap, tin bell. Mountainside town. Death Mountain. _One day soon, Armageddon will come down from the mountain, and kill everything._

 

“Dragon,” John murmured under his breath. As if on cue, a roar like thunder came from the distance, and the sky above the clouds lit up with orange light. 

“Shit,” Dave said under his breath. 

 

Suddenly, it came swooping down from the clouds, fire bellowing out of its huge mouth andrushing towards earth. John and Dave ducked instinctively, and watched as a nearby house was engulfed in flames. The dragon banked away from the ground, roaring. The bell was still ringing ominously, but not in the regular way that suggested someone was pulling it. The wind created by the dragon’s enormous wingspan was causing it to rattle and ring. John was struggling to stay upright in the draught. People were screaming. Kids were crying. Someone, somewhere, was yelling ‘get to the boats, get to the boats!’. He saw, out of his periphery, Dave’s hand gravitate towards his sword, but he realised that it wasn’t with him. 

“Shit,” he muttered, looking at John. In the burning of the nearby, thankfully empty house, he could see Dave’s wide eyes behind his glasses. 

“Let’s get to the lake,” he said, too quietly. He was amazed that Dave had heard him in the first place. Dave nodded, reaching instinctively for John’s hand when the roar came again, louder and closer, and suddenly there was a trail of fire heading directly towards them, lighting up the sky in too-bright, too warm light. John didn’t remember jumping, or even being pushed, just getting up a safe enough distance from the trail of fire. He looked up and down, and saw with a sinking feeling that the line really stretched on endlessly in both directions. Dave was on the other end of the line; the side closer to the lake. John was not. Dave watched, helplessly, his head just visible above the line of fire and through the billowing smoke. John bit his lip. 

“Go! Go to the lake!” he called over the flames, panic rising in his chest. 

“John-“ Dave started to protest, but was cut off by another roar, one that left his ears ringing slightly. Dave slowly backed away from the flames, dashing off towards the lake. John watched him go, thinking only ‘at least now he doesn’t have to watch me die.’ The roar came again, right on top of him, and John looked up with a growing sense of dread. It was huge, hovering just above John. Its wings spanned out miles in either direction, and its scales glittered gold and amber in the reflected light, the one eye he could see glowing bright blue in the flickering shadows. John’s mouth fell open in awe, and he knew now what the end of the world really looked like. _Armageddon_. 

 

But then it was opening its mouth, and John caught sight of the rising brightness from the depths of its throat. He backed away, and hit the low wall of the well. The reflection of the light was dancing on the inside walls. He panicked, and prayed, and in a knee jerk ‘I don’t want to die’ reaction pulled all the water out of the well, and sprayed it as forcefully as he could at the beast. 

 

It roared, and John thought that it sounded as though it was in pain. Steam rose up from its skin, mixing with the smoke in the air. Armageddon curved in the sky, and slid back into the clouds. The updraft it created knocked John over in earnest, but also put out the line of fire separating himself and the lake. He got shakily to his feet, and hobbled down to the lake. Armageddon was still roaring, but not in a way that suggested it was in a particularly large amount of pain. More as though it had but stubbed its toe. 

 

* * *

 

John managed to get to the long jetty just as they were loading into the last boat. An old lady gave him a hand, hauling him in. He settled down between a rather fat man, and a small child, who promptly fell asleep on his lap. They pushed away from the jetty and were floating out on the lake, illuminated by the luminescence of the mermaids below. He felt a twinge of fear, but noticed that nobody else seemed particularly worried. He chanced a look over the side, and saw through the murky water around half a dozen heads flicking around nervously. _They were afraid of the dragon too,_ he realised with a sinking feeling in his gut. How was he meant to fight a monster that the other monsters would hide from? John twisted around, easily spotting Dave in a boat full of sniffling girls. He flashed John a thumbs up, as if asking ‘are you alright’. John nodded, and turned back towards the village. 

 

Perhaps it was just the sudden absence of flames, or maybe it was a particularly cold night, but he shivered as he saw the thing dive again and again, setting light to new buildings, finally far away enough to see its full size. He knew full well what Dave would say the next day. _How the fuck are we going to fight that thing_. He also knew what he would tell Dave. 

 

_I don’t know, Dave,_ he would say, _I don’t know._


	9. Chapter 9: Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armageddon, the killer of man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW THIS TOOK FOREVER BUT I HOPE THIS WAS WORTH IT SCHOOL WAS CRAZY SCHOOL CONTINUES TO BE CRAZY BUT I TRY FINISH BY SEPTEMBER????

Dave watched the burning in the distance. He watched the flames leap up and lick at the sky, watched the silhouette of the great thing hovering impossibly lightly in the air, watched the little village and tin bell go down in a gentle heap. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, John gently drop off to sleep, and stir with nightmares. He watched as the teary eyed girls slumped over onto each other, watched a younger one crawl onto his lap and pass out, sucking on her thumb. He watched the light slowly come up over the mountain, the early morning light mixing with the still smouldering ruins. He watched the thing, finally satisfied with its work, disappear behind the jagged rocky mountain with a single beat of its enormous wings. 

 

It still set his teeth on edge, how _close_ John had been to that thing. _Go! Go to the lake! He’s not dead, idiot, stop thinking about it_. He realised, with a heavy weight in his gut, that John could have _died_. He avoided _(Go!)_ thinking about it.

 

He was dimly aware of the same elderly man who’d tried to scare them off the dragon the morning they arrived standing up and waking whoever’d ended up in his boat. He was also dimly aware of the people in the boats generally waking up, and then he was moving. Someone snatched the still-sleeping girl from his lap and handed him an oar. He rowed mechanically, preoccupied. 

 

How were they meant to fight that? The thing was enormous, and they didn’t even have the sword anymore (which he was _still_ kicking himself over). If he was hot enough to melt steel, there was no way that they could possibly just go and _pluck_ a scale off of the living thing. Something told Dave that he wouldn’t be very happy about that. But before any of that, they’d have to go and pick up more food. Clothes. Fuck, all their money had probably been destroyed. 

 

The boat gently bumped against the jetty. Dave nimbly hopped out of the boat, and offered his hand to some of the younger girls struggling to get out. 

“You see,” said a voice in his ear, and Dave flinched a little. He whipped around, to see the elderly man standing next to him, tying up the boat. 

“You see,” he started again, after a short pause, “it cannot be killed. It _will not_ be killed. There is nothing you and your friend can do to help.” He finished tying up the boat, and turned to hobble back down the crowded jetty. 

“We can help put out fires,” Dave offered. The man considered him for a long beat, as the last few boats pulled in to shore. 

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, and joined the stream of people returning to the village. Dave waited a beat, considering, and glanced back out at the lake. The boats were all in, now, and the lake was still as glass, reflecting the pale blue of the sky like a mirror. 

 

* * *

 

By the time he’d made it back to the village, most of the fires had been put out. Nothing was spared. The big tower standing in the middle of the town had collapsed into a piteous, charred heap. The houses, if still standing, were missing roofs and doors, or else were piles of largish rocks. The smell of smoke still hung heavy in the cool air, mixing with the smell of dried mud. But what disturbed Dave the most was the silence. Nobody was crying, mourning their lost possessions, asking what they would do now. Dave looked around, and saw nothing but apathy and acceptance. He watched as the stronger men and women walked purposely over to a little mound near the path to the boats, dug out some axes, and headed wordlessly into the woods south of the town. His heart sunk cold in his body. How long had this dragon been alive? Why were people still even living here? 

 

His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of John, staring incomprehensibly at the remnants of the inn. The already shabby and slumping walls had caved in, crushing the old, brittle wooden furniture. He watched John slowly pick his way over to where they’d been shacked up for the night. The guest rooms were slightly more in tact, theirs still having two walls standing up to the elements. Drawn by a certain sort of gravity, he made his way over to where John stood holding a charred piece of paper. Theorem had been trashed. Their packs had holes in them, the bed had been smashed in half, there were burned feathers everywhere and small pools of molten coins. He came to a stop next to him, staring at the blackened stones scattered around the ground. 

“Jesus,” John said under his breath, and Dave thought that, maybe, John was just coming to terms with how _close_ he’d been to dying. 

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. John looked over at him, blinking slightly, as if he hadn’t been aware of his presence. 

“Dave,” he said, folding the bit of paper and tucking it securely in his belt, “are you alright?” Dave couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

“Are you kidding? You’re the one who tried to fight the fucking _enormous_ Dragon named after doomsday. Are you alright?” Dave asked, and found that his hands _(Go!)_ had, at some point, found their way to gripping John’s shoulders. John smiled a little, and gave a small nod. 

 

Relieved, exhausted, and still not fully aware of what he was doing, Dave gently pulled John into his chest. He gently cradled John’s head in his arm, drawing the other securely across his chest. John’s glasses dug uncomfortably into his chest, which still ached a little from his fight with McMahon. It seemed like years ago that’d happened. He didn’t care. John was stiff for a while, before slowly winding his arms around Dave. 

“I’m fine, Dave,” John said, his voice muffled slightly by Dave’s chest. 

“Yeah,” Dave replied, gently laying his cheek on John’s (soft, soft, how the fuck was it so soft?) hair. There was another long pause. 

“You need a haircut,” Dave mumbled. John snorted, thumping him on the back before pulling away. Dave tried to pretend that the distance didn’t feel too wide already. They took stock of the room again. 

“Well shit,” Dave said. John just nodded. Dave, for want of a better thing to do (and to stop himself from doing some other weird shit) idly kicked stones around, nudging them over. 

“We’ll need to find new clothes,” John sighed, “and new bags. And _food_.” 

“Yeah, and a new goddamn sword,” Dave grumbled. He’d _really_ liked that sword. 

“And a new sword,” John agreed. 

“Dude, how are we even gonna fig-?” Dave asked, but his question was answered in the glinting of metal. He turned over a few more rocks, scrabbling at the rubble, only to uncover his sword. Unmelted. Unscratched. Unbent. Unbroken. He gingerly picked it up, as if he was expecting it to either burn him or turn to dust upon touch. It did neither of those things. He glanced up, only to see John staring at it too, comically wide-eyed. 

“John,” Dave asked without asking. 

“The enchantment stone,” John said under his breath, “the sapphire. It must…I dunno! Be a protecting one!” John looked up at him seriously, “I never learned much about these, but I’m pretty sure they’re like, _crazy_ rare.” 

“Lucky us,” Dave said under his breath, turning the thing in his hand. The elephant stood heavy in the room. 

“We can fight it,” Dave said under his breath. He looked up and met John’s eye with a mixture of exhilaration and horror. 

 

They could fight it. Which meant, now, they’d have to _fight_ it. 

 

* * *

 

 

The next few hours were a frenzy of patch working and Thieving . Dave ripped some of the bedsheets off and ripped it into shreds as bandages for when one of them inevitably got hurt, whilst John scoured the homes for a needle and thread. Dave sat down to stitch up the holes in their bags whilst John looked for some more clothes. Sure, they still had one or two shirts, but their coats barely kept out the cold as they were; up on top of a windy, snowy, freezing mountain it was bound to be worse. John, looking like he was off to commit murder and was _extremely_ unhappy about it, was sent off to ‘borrow’ any clothes that hadn’t been totally destroyed, and pilfer any food that was still good to eat. 

“Looking solid,” John remarked upon seeing the newly-patched up bags. The stitching was messy, and the scratchy burlap that they’d cannibalised looked so horrendously out of place that it was almost laughable. But Dave had been _incredibly_ careful with it, and it didn’t look like they would disintegrate halfway up the mountainside. Which, Dave supposed, was all they could really ask for.

“Hopefully it’s solid enough,” he agreed. He glanced up at John, who unceremoniously dumped his armful of shirts, coats, burned bread and root vegetables on the ground. Dave snorted, holding one of the smaller coats up by its lace trimmed sleeve. 

“Dude,” he said, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice, “Did you steal this from a Grandma? Shit, this looks like it fell right out of a hideous drawing by a sugar-filled five year old.” He imagined John in the ridiculous coat, and couldn’t help but laugh. He fought to get the rest of his sentence out “There are at least eight different colours on this thing.

“ _Borrowed_ it from a Grandma, yeah,” John said, looking oddly smug.

“You’re the one who has to _wear_ it, c’mon man, act a _little_ more embarrassed. Look at the buttons, they’re-“

“Stick your arm in it,” John said, smiling a little. Dave rolled his eyes, but obediently pushed his arm into the too tight sleeve and-

“Holy shit,” Dave said, smile dropping, “this must be the warmest coat north of the Tundra.” 

“Yep,” Joh said, popping the ‘P’ obnoxiously. There was a serious pause, both boys considering the quilt of a coat. 

“Dibs,” Dave said, folding it up and making to put it in his own bag. John laughed, snatching it back. 

“You’d barely fit in it!” 

“Are you saying I’m _fat_ , John?” Dave gasped in mock offence. John giggled and looked at him with a warm, heart-twisting affection that Dave had never had the pleasure of receiving. He took in a deep breath, _Get it together, Strider, come on_ , and looked back over the pile, pretending to be engrossed in sorting through the food and remaining coats. 

 

They were ready and rearing to go by midday, packs slung high on their backs, borrowed coats already securely on their shoulders. Dave’s big, heavy, brown thing that smelled like wet grass was slightly too big, even for him. The sleeves kept slipping down past his hands. They had hoped to slip by unnoticed by the town slowly, solemnly rebuilding their homes, and crept behind the still barely standing stone walls. They came to what was more or less the edge of the town, in the shadow of the huge mountain, and stared at the narrow path of brown earth that climbed up and up before disappearing behind pale boulders and out of sight. 

“I’ve never seen a mountain before,” John muttered, looking up to try and see the top. 

“Me neither,” Dave admitted, “It’ll be a learning experience for us both. Shit, this is the kind of stuff you put on resumes, like ‘I had a life changing trek up a deadly, deadly mountain in the middle of asstown New Mexico. Hire me’.” John laughed a little bit, and Dave caught the way his gorgeously blue eyes rolled behind thick glasses. 

“Welp,” John sighed, “now or never!” He hitched the pack up higher on his back and started off, when-

“Wait!” John stopped dead. Dave turned around, and standing a great distance away was most of the town. The elderly man hobbled forward, using a huge shield as a walking stick over the uneven ground. He stopped a safe distance from the two. There was a long, uneasy silence. 

“You are really going to kill _Armageddon?”_ he asked, almost too quiet to hear. Dave nodded mutely. There was another uneasy pause. 

“You will need this,” he said, and held out the shield he’d been using as a crutch. It was tall, probably at least half of Dave’s height, and shaped like a rounded square. It was scratched to hell and back, rusting around the edges, and looked about as sturdy and bombproof as the fortification of a castle. He thought back to that night, how he’d felt so fucking exposed under the shadow of something a hundred times bigger than him. The shield was definitely invaluable. Dave looked at John, who just shrugged unhelpfully. He turned back to the man, who was still holding it out. Dave could see, even from here, how his arm trembled under the weight of the armour. Slowly, he went forward, and took it from the man. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. 

“Do not die,” is all the man said in return. 

“No promises,” Dave shot back, and managed to get the ghost of a smile out of the weathered, cracked face. 

“Ladies,” Dave nodded at the crowd, and turned back to John. He secured the shield to his arm, and felt the satisfying weight of it. Wordlessly, the two followed the path up the side of the mountain, and did not look back. 

 

* * *

 

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get to the top of this mountain?” John asked, already starting to trail behind Dave. 

“Dunno. Dunno that we’ll even have to make it to the top of the mountain though. Asshole-geddon”-this got a satisfying little breathless giggle from John- “might not even live at the top. Hell, maybe he lives somewhere convenient, like right down the bottom.”

“That’s be the day,” John muttered under his breath. They didn’t talk much after that; the path was already to narrow for them to walk together, and surprisingly steep. Looking up, Dave could almost track the way it zig-zagged carelessly up the face of the mountain. It made him dizzy to look up and not see the top, so he put his head down and forced himself onwards instead. His stomach gurgled in protest, he hadn’t eaten since his interrupted meal the day before, but he loudly ignored it. They didn’t have enough food for more than five days of climbing, and Dave prayed that there were things living on the mountain side they could hunt. Rabbits maybe. Smallish birds. Dave could see trees sprouting up along the path, so they ought to be fine in terms of warmth, but food and-

“Fuck,” Dave said, stopping suddenly and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“What?” John asked, breathless and worried. It would have been adorable if Dave hadn’t been kicking himself. 

“We’ve not got any water,” he said, turning to John. No water, and no way to carry it either. John bit his lip, and his eyes got that far-away look he got when he was thinking about something. 

“Well,” he started, “Are you thirsty _now?_ ” 

“Yeah John,” Dave said, seriously, “Thirsty for your Mum’s sweet vagina.” John rolled his eyes, pushing at Dave a little. 

“I might be able to work out some sort of Magic-y loophole. Give me some time to work it out,” he said, and they trudged on in silence. 

 

Eventually, the days still being short, the sun dipped down below the horizon, bathing everything in a weird, dream-like sort of orange, then a gentle purple, and finally the murky black that was getting stronger and stronger by the second. They’d made frustratingly little progress, but if they walked in the dark they’d only get tired, or trip and break their neck.

“That’s day one over then,” Dave sighed, glancing around in the growing dark. He pushed his shades up to the top of his head and examined the mountain side. It was open to rain, that much was obvious, but it jutted out towards the path in a way that ought to protect them from the wind. It looked pretty flat too. 

“Gimmie your pack,” he said, gesturing for John’s bag, “I’ll out down the bed rolls if you go grab firewood?” John nodded stiffly, and limped away back down the path. Wait. When had he started limping? Why was he limping in the first place? A deep sense of guilt crept into his bones like the cold. The mermaids. The _fucking_ mermaids. John had almost gotten his leg taken off. 

“Woah woah woah, hang on there,” Dave said, following him and putting a gentle hand on his arm to stop him going any further. John’s face was almost worryingly pale, and it was obvious he was biting his tongue. Shit. 

“Yeah?” he asked, nudging his glasses back up his nose. 

“How about you take a breather?” Dave suggested, gently tugging him back up to where they’d been, and pushing him down so he was sitting, “I’ll get the wood.” 

“Are you sure?” John asked, and Dave could almost picture his worried little face, “I mean, you’ve been carrying _way_ more than me, and-“

“John,” Dave said with what he hoped was finality, “just chill a sec. I’ll be right back.” Before John could dignify that with a response, Dave bounded his way off back down the path, pulling up small bushes and twigs and things, leaving John behind. 

 

By the time he came back, armful of wood and other burnables, Dave was parched. He dumped the pile of sticks and grass on the ground with a dull clatter, and threw himself down next to John. 

“John,” he said, leaning against the mountain side, “My mouth is like a desert. _Please_ tell me you figured something out.” John laughed a little, moving over so they sat shoulder to shoulder. 

“Sort of. It’ll probably taste like, _super_ gross, but it’s water either way, I guess.” 

“So why are we still talking? C’mon, man, show me whatever mad-sick sorcery you worked out while I was slaving away like an animal by the side of the forest, tearing grass outta the ground and pulling sticks off trees. It’s harder than it looks.” Dave could barely see in the low light, but he was certain John rolled his eyes. He saw the shadow of his hands moving outwards, the stubby little fingers slowly clenching into fists, before drawing back up towards his chest. There was a hissing, scraping sort of noise that made Dave’s skin crawl. 

“Right, and so like, it’s really just about bringing the water out,” John sounded like he was finishing whatever point he’d been making, and so Dave nodded emptily. 

“Sounds goo-“ he was cut off suddenly, yelping as freezing cold water splashed the space right next to his mouth. He sputtered a little, and heard John laughing maniacally next to him. 

“What the fuck?” Dave asked, wiping down his face. John was still laughing too hard to manage much, but Dave caught the gasping explanation of ‘got you your drink of water’ between the high-pitched giggling. He couldn’t help but smile, and it was too dark to catch the subtleties of his expression, so he allowed it to be more tender than it should’ve been. 

“Okay okay, it wasn’t that funny,” Dave sighed eventually, pushing at John’s shoulder. He calmed down slowly, wiping away the tears that had been squeezed out.

“Are you still thirsty?” John asked in a tone that _would_ have been innocent, if it hadn’t been coloured with laughter. 

“Well,” Dave replied, pretending to sound like he was considering something “I don’t actually absorb fluid through my cheek. Y’know, come to think of it, and I know _plenty_ of folks from here to this little shithole named Sburb, but come to think of it, I’ve not met anyone who does. Shit, wait, there’s Sammy the Asshole, how could I forget about good ol’ Sam sam who basically drinks through his skin? But, on the other hand Sammy the Asshole is a fucking tree, standing there and not doing shit for society. That’s why he’s an Asshole.” There was a brief silence

“So yeah, still thirsty,” Dave finished, satisfied. John scoffed, Dave felt him roll his eyes. 

“Open wide,” John said, and repeated the same weird hand motion he’d done earlier. Dave opened his mouth as wide as it would go. This time, the water made it with more accuracy into his gaping maw, and slid cooly down his throat. It tasted awful, herbal, like he was just sucking on a tree branch, but it was _water,_ and he hadn’t even noticed how thirsty he’d been. Dave gestured for John to keep going, and eventually drunk his full. 

“Y’know John, that shit’s mad impressive.” Even in the pale light of the moon, Dave could see John’s wide grin. 

“I’m sure MM would be proud,” he continued, softer. John paused, minutely, as if the comment had caught him off guard, and busied himself with making the fire. They were out of the wind, so it wasn’t frigid, but it was still early, and the temperature was bound to drop in the night. John quickly managed a spark, and the little pile went up in flames. John shuffled over so he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Dave. 

“I hope there aren’t any bandits on the mountainside,” John said quietly. Dave laughed under his breath. 

“We’re within, like, fifty miles of a fucking _Dragon_ and you’re worried about bandits?” Dave asked incredulously. 

“Yeah,” John said, turning to face Dave seriously, “it’s sensible enough!” 

“John, bandits are just _people,_ that thing is the size of a goddamn city,” Dave said, his voice rising in disbelief. 

“The Dragon isn’t gonna want to slit our throats and take our packs!” John pointed out, shuffling away a little. His face was beginning to scrunch up like it did whenever he really dug his heels in and fought for what he believed in. 

“No, it’s just gonna eat us,” Dave said, laughing a little in total incredulity. For a while, there was only the sound of the fire crackling cheerfully next to them. John’s next sentence was almost too hard for Dave to hear: 

“At least it’d leave the packs alone,” he mumbled. Dave laughed quietly, then loudly, then hysterically, slapping the ground for no particular reason. When he was done, he cleared his throat and, before he could overthink it, collapsed frontwards onto John’s lap. He shuffled a little so he was lying on his back, facing up at the stars. 

 

They were gorgeous. Sprayed on the sky nonsensically, filling every inch of the cloudless night. Dave had never really understood the fascination with stars. They were beautiful, sure, and a reminder of the insignificance of man. But they were incorporeal and far away and largely irrelevant to his life. Much better to look at was John and the way he was grinning down at Dave, the firelight reflecting in his thick, thick glasses, stars in the faults in his eyes. John was also beautiful, and a reminder of Dave’s own insignificance, except relevant, and tangible. Solid. He couldn’t touch stars. But he could touch John. 

 

John was still smiling, but gentler now, with affection and something else that made his palms sweat despite the chill. 

“You have very comfy thighs,” Dave said, for want of a better thing to say, and promptly bit his tongue. _What the fuck?_

“Thanks!” John chirped, “I’ll put that on my resume.” 

“Like you’ll have to work when this is all over,” Dave scoffed, “You’ll be rolling in it. John, you’ll have so much money that a lil baker’s boy like you won’t know what to do with it all.”

“And _you_ will?” John sounded disbelieving. At some point, John’s hand had found a resting place in Dave’s hair, and was scratching idly at the space just behind Dave’s ear. Dave let his eyes slide shut, slowly going boneless under John’s merciless intimacy. 

“One word, John,” Dave mumbled sleepily, “Hookers.” John scoffed and swatted at Dave’s shoulder. They were quiet after that, and fell asleep praying that it wouldn’t rain whilst they were dozing. 

 

It didn’t. 

 

* * *

 

The morning came, cold and windy and bright. They packed up without ceremony, talking only occasionally. Dave’s stomach gave an embarrassingly loud gurgle, but he ignored it. He could wait till Lunch. 

“You ready?” John asked, hiking his pack up with some difficulty. To anyone else, the signs would have been imperceptible; the slight tightness around his (soft, pink, _shut up_ ) mouth, the tiny crinkle next to his (blue, pretty, _cut that out)_ eyes, John was obviously struggling. Dave could read the tells at fifty paces. he paused, his bag hovering loosely in his hands.. 

“Hang on a sec,” Dave said, putting his pack back down, “Lemme just be a mama hen real quick and check on your leg.” John obediently flopped back on the dirty ground, letting his bag slide off his shoulders and slump over on its side. 

“It feels…better?” John offered asDave unraveled the bandage with what was certainly unnecessary care.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Dave mumbled, winding the yellowing fabric up into a thick roll. It still freaked him out, the way the punctures went so deep into flesh. They looked like they’d stopped bleeding, at least, and that it was _starting_ to heal. Maybe? Fuck, Dave really had no clue. He pretended to look for signs of infection (whatever those were), before deciding that John would eventually be fine. 

“Wow, thanks Dave!” John said, “I’m so glad you held us back for five minutes to tell me I was fine!” Dave flicked his nose, pointing at him accusingly. 

“Don’t talk to you mother like that,” he said threateningly. John scoffed. 

“Hand me a bandage?” he asked, and Dave pulled out strips of bedsheet, handing them to John. He thought about taking some of the stuff out of John’s bag, shoving it into his. Would John notice? _Should_ John notice? 

“I know what you’re thinking, Dave,” John said, and Dave felt himself jump about a mile in the air. 

“I’m not thinking anything,” Dave responded instantly. He heard John roll his eyes. 

“Dave, I can handle it, really,” he said, getting to his feet and snatching his bag from where it sat, “I’m not like, spun glass or anything!” Dave felt his face burn up. He was frozen for a while until he noticed that John had hotfooted it up the path, leaving Dave gaping in the dust. 

 

They stopped now and then for water breaks. They stopped for lunch. John was quiet. Dave was panicking. He cleared his throat. 

“Nice view,” he said. It’d been mostly to fill the space, but with the crazy pace John had set, they’d made good time. They were a solid mile higher than they’d been in the morning. Beyond them, the grass turned to tundra, stretching out infinitely. John just nodded stonily. Packed up. Moved on. Dave saw the way he was limping a little, dragging his injured foot along the ground, but decided that it would be for the best if he didn’t bring it up. 

 

Time passed in stony silence, the wind getting more and more biting, the incline getting more and more steep. A bird chirped, obnoxiously happy. 

 

By the time the sun started to dip below the horizon again, and the two had found a suitable indent in the mountain side, and were significantly higher up. Dave peered over the side and found that it made him dizzy to look down. The poorly maintained path had taken them to a slightly different face of the mountain, and the setting sun cast their shadows out in front of them. Dave was exhausted, his legs almost wobbling with the effort of standing, leaning on the huge shield. It was awful to lug it up the mountain, but he had a feeling he’d be thankful to have it with him in a few short days. The prospect made him a little sick. He turned to watch John slowly lower himself down onto the ground, and pull himself a long stream of water from the grass around them. Now Dave could see it in the light of not-quite day; the way the colour seemed to drain from the plants, the way John’s fingers danced nimbly, the rippling rope of water suspended in nothing, he was appropriately awestruck. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice warbling and scratching a little. He cleared his throat, trying again, but John interrupted him. 

“I can do it,” he said. His face was set in a angry sort of determination, but Dave heard the little tremble in his voice. 

“I know,” Dave said, getting the feeling he was walking on eggshells, “I’m sorry for babying you.” This was not the right thing to say, and John’s shoulders slumped a little. 

“No, you were right to. I’m like, pretty badly hurt,” John sighed, rubbing at his eye and oh shit, was he crying? Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“I’m really useless with this leg, aren’t I?” he asked with a dry, humourless laugh. Dave moved to sit by him, their shoulders knocking together amiably. 

“That’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever said, _including_ that time a month or so back when you told that lady we were adventurers. If it wasn’t for you, we’d both have died of thirst by now. Hell, we would’ve frozen to death last night. Hell, we wouldn’t even have a _sword_ to work with. John, you’ve basically carried us up this goddamn mountain, like I’m some sort of swooning bride and you’re carrying us over the threshold of some sort of newly built mountain-cave house”-John laughed a little here, and Dave had never heard anything more beautiful in his life-“John, we’d not be _anywhere_ without you.” 

 

John is quiet for a while, as if considering what Dave’s just said, and eventually turns to him with a grin on his face. His teeth stick out at odd angles and Dave has never wanted to kiss someone quite this badly before.

“Well, duh!” he said, flexing his muscles. Dave paused to notice how lean John had gotten. He was probably similar. Dave rolled his eyes and pushed at John’s head, knocking him over into the grass. John went down laughing. Nothing had changed. Dave’s stomach gave a gurgle, and John went back to building the fire with what little he had in the immediate area. 

“We’ve got enough food for one more day, maybe two,” he told Dave, suddenly serious again. He nodded. 

“Guess we’ll need to kill some birds or dig up a root or something,” Dave said, getting to his feet, “I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” He set off down the darkened path, picking up sticks and stripping down trees. Already, the path was significantly more narrow, trees more sparse. Dave wondered how far away the summit was. 

He returned later, with an armful of sticks and twigs, trading them for a hunk of bread that John was holding out to him. Dave tore into it ravenously, chewing in a way that made John grimace. 

“It’s not even that good,” John said, almost offended, “The dough’s been given _way_ too long to rise. It tastes sour!” 

“You’re just jealous that your bread will never taste half this good,” Dave said around a mouthful of the stuff, “I mean, shit, it’s basically ambrosia stolen from the gods or something.” John just sighed, like he couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore, and got the fire going. Dave shuffled a little closer to it, sticking his meat on a stick and cooking it over the fire. 

“Y’know, I was thinking that maybe, when all of this is over, I’ll open a bakery of my own,” John said cheerily, cooking his own hideous lump of meat. Dave’s heart sunk, for some reason he couldn’t quite place. 

“You’re gonna go back to _Sburb?”_ he asked, almost horrified. Sburb was a shithole, and Dave wanted to get as far away from it as was humanly possible. Which meant that he’d be as far away from John as was humanly possible. Which _wasn’t_ really something he wanted. 

“No!” John sounded disgusted, and he looked a little repulsed by the idea. 

“Thank God,” Dave breathed. John laughed. 

“No, man, my _own_ bakery. Y’know, not where I’m ‘The Baker’s Son’. Somewhere I’m just ‘The Baker’. I think it’s got a nice ring to it!” 

“Certainly shorter,” Dave mumbled.

“How about you, Blacksmith?” John asked, grinning. 

“Blacksmith? No, man, nope. Nuh-uh. Nah. No way. The second I can support myself, I’m gonna find myself a nice, quiet house in the middle of fuck-all and never, ever, _ever_ look at an anvil again.” 

“Aw, c’mon. How would the Blacksmith feel?” John said, teasing.

“Probably great. I can hear him now”-here, Dave did an atrocious imitation of the accent-“Daev, thank Good yoov givun oop on yer dream o’ bein’ a blacksmith. Ah’ can fioanly sleep easier, knooing that yer nowhere near hoot metal.” John had flopped onto the ground, laughter tears catching the light of the fire. Dave took a triumphant bite out of his nameless meat. 

“You sound,” John said, wiping away at his eyes, _“exactly_ like him! It’s spooky!” 

 

They gossiped and giggled like old ladies until the fire burned down, and then rolled out their bedrolls to sleep in. The wind was changing direction, and every now and then it would blow right into the indent they’d made their home. Slowly, shivering, Dave inched his way across a divide so wide John might as well have been back in Derse. But eventually, there he was, huddled against John’s already sleeping, slightly twitching frame. He watched John by the light of the glowing stars above them and the glowing embers behind them. He didn’t think, then, just watched the little ways John scrunched up his nose and fluttered his eyelashes in his sleep. Before he could think, Dave bent over and pressed the lightest, briefest kiss to the top of John’s ear. He pulled back once he realised what he’d done, because dammit he _wasn’t even gay until a few weeks ago. How was he this fucking smitten?_ He sighed, before settling down and squishing up against John. This one, at least, he’d be able to blame on the wind. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, it was raining. John pulled some magic bullshit that meant they couldn’t get wet, and the rain just stopped and formed a canopy above their heads, but the driving wind was bad enough. John tried, but couldn’t do anything about that, so they endured as their faces and fingers went numb from the cold. 

 

In the evening, they talked about memories from kindergarten and strange birthdays they’d had. They pretended like everything was normal, like they weren’t eating what was basically the last of their food, and that they weren’t muddied and damp, despite John’s best efforts. A snail crawled by, slowly passing the mouth of the cave. Dave turned to John, pointing his meat-cooking stick at John accusingly. 

“Don’t you dare,” he said. John grinned. 

“I’m serious, John, don’t you fucking do it.” John grinned 

“John, I will end you, and then burn everything you’ve ever loved.” John grinned. 

“Hey Dave, check out that weird beetle!” 

 

Dave launched himself at John, getting him in a headlock and pinning him to the ground. It wasn’t particularly difficult, seeing as John went down doing nothing but laughing. Dave dug his fingers in John’s ribs, causing him to squirm and shriek with increased intensity. By the time they were done, John was red in the face and breathless. Dave suddenly felt very awkward, and kneeled back, putting distance between them. 

“You’re lucky I let you off so easy,” Dave said, wagging a finger at him and offering him a hand to stand, “next time, I will kill you.” 

“Nah,” John said, squeezing Dave’s hand, “You love me too much.” 

_Truer than you know, Egbert_ Dave thought. 

 

They fell asleep on top of each other, despite the relatively warm night. 

 

* * *

 

They walked for another two days. Amazingly, neither of them tripped and hurt themselves. Their food ran out. Dave managed, with great difficulty, to catch a bird, pluck it, and cook it. It tasted disgusting, gamey and bloody and was tougher than rubber, and by the end of it they had a small pile of bones sitting at their feet. 

“That was awful,” John moaned, flopping over so his head was resting on Dave’s shoulder. Dave nodded, John’s hair tickling his jawline when he did. 

“It was food though.” 

“I dunno if I’d call that food,” John said, grimacing. 

“Well next time you can starve and I’ll eat the goddamn bird by myself,” Dave said, picking at his teeth, “Shit, that’s like a luxury for most people, a whole bird to themselves. Check your privilege at the door, John.” They sat in silence a while, just listening to the crackle of wood. 

“How’s your leg?” Dave asked after a while, turning his head to look at John. He moved his leg around awkwardly a little, flexing and stretching his toes. 

“Alright,” he shrugged, “I mean, it’s better than it was. Still hurts a little, but I think I should be good to find that Dragon!” 

 

The unsaid, of course, was whether or not he’d be able to actually _fight_ the dragon. Whether either of them would be. They were exhausted from climbing and scrambling and walking for the last five days, existing on limited calories and whatever water John could suck from the plants. And Armageddon was, well, named after the end of the world. Knights, heroes, scores of people had come to fight him before them, and all had failed, charred to a crisp in their armour and splendour.

 

“Yeah,” Dave said, flicking a bit of gristle at the pile, “I hope so. 

“I miss beds,” John said suddenly. Dave moaned obscenely. They’d not been on the mountainside more than a week, and already Dave was desperate to get off it. 

“I miss hot meals,” Dave replied. 

“I miss roofs. Roofs!” 

“I miss fucking baths. When was the last time I had a bath?” 

“Probably…Derse?”

“Yeah. Goddamn. I probably smell _bad_.” 

“You stink!” 

“You love it,” Dave grinned. 

“I love you,” John shot back. 

 

Time stopped. 

 

Dave felt the grin melt off his face at the same time John’s eyes went wide. 

“I mean like, not _really_ ,” he sputtered, his face going pink, “Like, I dunno! A brother. We’re brothers.” 

“Yeah,” Dave said under his breath, “Brothers.”. He could hear his heart hammering away in his chest. John cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting away from Dave under the pretence of stoking the fire a little more.

 

It wasn’t what Dave wanted it to be; he knew that much. But that didn’t stop him from holding it in his heart, in his head, keeping it safe and replaying it over and over on loop. 

 

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

 

* * *

 

They packed up the next morning, some sort of tension still hovering in the air. They awkwardly made small talk, talking about the view and what they’d do with their spoils, when they finally came to the cave. 

 

It was huge, gaping and tall, dipping down, down into the warm darkness of the mountain. And it smelled, like wet stone and metal, like iron and gold. The metallic tang mixed with the dampness of the grass beneath their feet, and it stank, it stank, it _stank_. They stood there, suddenly afraid. 

“This…” John started, and Dave could see that he was suddenly pale. 

“Yeah. This is it.” They shared a long look, a look filled with uncertainty and the tinge of terror around John’s eyes. 

 

They could give up. They could turn around and go back to Sburb, and forget any of this had ever happened. 

 

But then, they had nothing. No money, no clothes, nothing to live on. Nothing to life _for._ They’d long since passed the point of no return. 

 

“Come on, man,” Dave said, biting his lip and holding his hand out to John. Wordlessly, John took it, squeezing their cold fingers together. He clicked his fingers, producing a flame large enough to see by, and led them down the loose, rocky slope and towards their Armageddon. 

 

* * *

 

It stank. It stank in the specific way a Dragon’s Den stinks; of rotting flesh and cave mould. They picked their way carefully down the slope, guided by John’s dim light. Occasionally, the shadows would flicker over a rock in an unexpected way and Dave would flinch, but other than that it was silent. They went further and further down, the air getting colder and colder. Dread sat heavy in Dave’s stomach. 

“Goddamn,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder at the disappearing circle of light behind him. 

“Yeah,” John whispered back. 

“How far away do you think he is?” Dave asked, his grip on his sword becoming slippery with the nervous sweat from his palm. 

“Not sure,” John whispered back, his head shifting a little to suggest the flickering of his eyes around the cave walls. They turned a corner, and were suddenly there, in the cavern. 

 

It was enormous; like the whole mountain had been hollowed out.In the centre of the cavern was a raised platform, an island made of rock. It was piled high with gold; gold coins, golden chalices, crowns, pictures, everything was gold. Between them and the island was a wide moat of running gold, reflecting the light of a gap way up above them (probably the summit). It was hot, fucking hot as hell. Dave felt it on his face like a furnace. If the rivers of melted gold were anything to go by, the temperature in the cavern was somewhere upwards of two thousand degrees. 

“Holy shit,” John breathed. _Yeah_ , Dave thought, _You said it Egderp_.

 

It struck him, suddenly, that they could die. That they probably would die. At least one of them would die, and the heat falling out of the cavern was suddenly not enough to warm him. John could die, he thought, and he would never know. 

 

Well, no time like the present. 

 

“John,” he said lowly, pulling gently on John’s tunic, “There’s something I have to tell you.” 

John half turned his face to Dave, and his profile was highlighted by the golden light reflecting and refracting everywhere. Dave licked his suddenly dry lips, and found himself watching John’s carefully. The light faded, like a cloud had passed in front of the sun.

“I-“ Before he could finish, there was a roar like thunder, and they both flinched. 

 

Armageddon was hovering above the skylight, putting everything in comparative darkness. With another roar, he barrelled towards them, landing with a crunch and the clink of shifting metal. Some coins, displaced by the aggressive landing, slid off their island and landed silently in the river, melting down and joining the hissing, bubbling mass. Armageddon roared again, and reared up onto the muscular hind legs. As if drawing himself up for another roar, his neck contracted. He opened his mouth, and fire shot out at the two. Dave thinks he might have screamed, preparing himself for the end. But John, amazing, wonderful John stood between Dragon and Dave, and spread his arms wide. The column of fire split in two, redirected to either side of them, and harmlessly hitting the wall. _Holy shit,_ Dave thought, _he’s a fucking mage._

 

Armageddon, realising this was fruitless, stopped, and roared again. John turned to Dave with a wild look in his eyes that said very loudly one word: 

 

_Go._

 

Dave nodded, composing himself, and squared his shoulders, John grabbed ahold of his waist, just as Dave grabbed ahold of his shield, and launched them across to stand in front of Armageddon. Coins slipped and slid around them, falling into the molten metal. It tilted its head, scales shimmering in the almost blinding yellow light. Dave had never been more thankful for his tinted glasses. The two stood there, observing each other.

 

“I’ll attack it if you distract it?” Dave offered quickly, under his breath.

“As good a plan as I’ll manage,” John agreed. Armageddon raised one enormous foot, and slashed out at the boys, claws glinting sharply in the light. Dave and John jumped to either side, circling the monster. It seemed, for a moment, at loss of who to follow. Dave noticed, mundanely, that its eyes seemed too small for its face. Maybe its eyesight wasn’t too good either. 

 

Eventually, Armageddon decided, whirling on Dave and drawing himself up for another attack. Dave’s heart dropped to his boots, and he feebly raised his shield, when he roared, shocked, as if he’d stubbed his toe. The Dragon wheeled around, turning to face John, and Dave narrowly avoided the swinging, spiked tail. He jabbed the sword at Armageddon, but his blade glanced harmlessly off the tough scales with a metallic clang. God, how would he kill this? It was enormous, and there was no way he’d manage to get through these. Though his minor inconvenience hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Armageddon was spinning back around, slashing out again with his huge claws. Dave barely managed to get his shelf up in time, feeling himself get batted around like a rag doll and landing, boneless, uncomfortably close to the edge. 

 

He flailed and kicked out, struggling to get back on his feet, when he saw it. Right there, in the spot near Armageddon’s eye, was a spot without scales; soft and pale and fleshy. All he had to do was get up there. 

 

The beast was close to him now, and Dave suddenly felt very small. He slashed at the boy with his huge claws again, Dave holding up the shield just to have it splinter in his hands. Well, so much for that. Armageddon wrenched the shield out of his hands, flinging it behind him like an annoyance. Dave, this time, managed to get to his feet, feeling even more vulnerable than he had with the flimsy shield, and _where is John?_

 

Almost as if on cue, a thin stream of water wound its way up from the other side of the island and directed itself at Armageddon’s head. It hissed and sizzled when it touched the skin, as if it’d been dropped into a hot pan. Armageddon grunted in annoyance, turning around so aggressively that Dave didn’t have time to register or counter the tail surging towards him. It collided with his chest with enough force to send him flying-literally- off the Island. 

 

Blood screamed in his ears. He swore he heard his name called somewhere. The scales themselves were burning hot, enough to scorch his clothes, and his back collided with the cave wall. He scramled with his hands and feet for a platform, a foothold, _anything_ , before he was falling again, and his glasses fell off his face, and there was the river of impossibly hot metal bubbling before his eyes and- 

 

Suddenly, with the sound of rock sliding on rock, a platform jutted out to catch him, and he landed in a pile, winded and gasping for breath. God, every part of him was weak from the trek, and sweating from the heat. His ribs were probably broken, again, and he’d lost his glasses, and he couldn’t see John and he wanted to go and sleep somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry about getting rained on and _he couldn’t see John_ and 

 

And it was all this motherfucker’s fault. 

 

Filled, suddenly, with an intoxicating mixture of adrenaline and unbridled fury, Dave felt his head clear and his mind sharpen. He got to his feet, dropping the sword, and tearing off bits of his shirt. He wrapped them around his palms, so at least now when he touched the monster his skin wouldn’t peel straight off. He picked up the sword again, drew himself up, and screamed. That one, long, unhindered battle cry filled the air. Armageddon’s head shot up, snapping to Dave. Dave backed up as much as he could, then, with newfound strength from some unknown reservoir, sprinted as fast as he could and leapt off the rock, Sword raised high above his head. 

 

_I probably look so cool right now,_ he thought dimly. 

 

He made contact, and his clothes sizzled and blackened with the contact. His fingertips, unprotected by the fabric, screamed in agony, but Dave ignored it. He’d grabbed onto Armageddon’s neck, and would hold on for all he was worth. 

 

The dragon was furious. It screamed, thrashing its head around wildly. But Dave would not be deterred. His arms hurt, his legs were burning, his cheek stung from where it was pressed to the hot metal of the Dragon’s neck. But he held on. Then, slowly, inch by inch, he crawled his way up towards the head of the Dragon. 

 

He looked down. He saw the blur of gold and glitter. 

 

He did not see John. 

 

_Fuck_. 

 

He gritted his teeth and moved up closer, grabbing ahold of one of the short, nubby horns atop Armageddon’s head and swinging down by its eye. It was large, and black, and narrowed the second its vision was filled with Dave. He saw his reflection in the sheen of the eye, saw how crazy and bloody and beaten he looked. Dave didn’t care. He couldn't see John, and in his wild, animalistic state, that meant one thing. This thing had killed John. 

 

He raised his sword and stabbed it into the soft, fleshy part of Armageddon. The beast screamed, high pitched and deafening. He pulled it out and stabbed it in again, and again, and again and again and again until blood was gushing forwards, spurting out and drenching Dave with the stinking blackness. 

 

Armageddon stumbled. Its knees buckled. It fell onto its belly, its head fell, and Dave fell after. The beast stirred, twitched, and was finally dead. 

 

Dave breathed out a shaky sigh, letting his sword fall from his hand. God, he was tired all of a sudden. He should be feeling ecstatic; he’d killed a fucking Dragon! But all he felt was sad, and exhausted to hell. John was dead. 

 

John had died, and Dave would never get to tell him that- 

 

“Dave!” 

 

His eyes, which he hadn’t noticed slide shut, shot back open. He sat bolt upright. 

“John?” he tried, staring straight ahead. 

“Dave!” it sounded more cheerful this time, and was coming from behind him. Dave kicked himself for being over dramatic, but was pulled to his feet by a higher power, he wasn’t even aware of it. John came sprinting over to where Dave stood and grabbed onto him, squeezing tightly. Dave sagged a little, happy to let John take most of his weight. 

“Oh my god, Dave, holy shit,” John was saying in a breathy undertone, a constant stream of words. 

“We did it,” he mumbled into John’s disgusting, sweaty, perfect hair.

“We did it,” John agreed, rubbing Dave’s back. Dave stood up a little straighter, looking down at John, who just beamed right back up at him. Dave gently leant down to rest his forehead on John’s, resting his filthy, stinking hands on the back of John’s head, almost shaking from the relief. John mirrored the action, tangling his fingers in Dave’s shaggy matt of hair. 

“John,” he mumbled, steeling himself. His heart was racing, a little from fear and a little from excitement and mostly from fighting the Dragon. 

 

Before he could let himself ruin it with thoughts, Dave leant down and pressed his gross, dry, slightly bloody lips to John’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao the nerds finally kissed! Hoped you enjoyed it <3


	10. Chapter 10: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two down, one to go. But what on earth is a potion stolen from a Gravedigger's mound?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOWOWOWOW here it is FINALLY.
> 
> I'm so so sorry this took so long! I started writing this exactly 24 hours after my last exam of High school :0 . So here it is, WAY longer than I intended (about 12k words). 
> 
> Okay now in this chapter we have some homophobic slurs, some pretty vivid internalised homophobia, and then just some generalised (period typical) homophobia. If that stuff don't sit right with you, just skip ahead to "You're gonna have to be patient" (command + F that phrase). It's still there in most of the rest of the chapter, but it's more like an underlying thing rather than constantly in your face (John and Dave have to hide and sneak around and stuff, but they don't get beaten to death or chased out of town for it). Let me know in the comments if I need to be more clear in this description of what happens. 
> 
> Also towards the end there's some pretty gnarly and real gross medieval surgery. If you get to that part and it makes you feel ill, just skip down to "And done!" 
> 
> So, without further ado, here's the long awaited Chapter 10!

 

Holy shit. 

 

This couldn’t be happening. 

 

This _wasn’t_ happening. 

 

Was it? 

 

No, no it couldn’t be. Dave’s not-

 

Or he wasn’t- 

 

_But it feels real,_ thought John, _it feels terrible._

 

If it was really some kind of daydream, or hallucination, or something in between, the kiss would have been perfect. It would have felt like absolution, or conclusion, or something similarly poetic and shit. There was no way his mind could make up something this awful. No way he’d imagine the way Dave’s sweaty under-eyes looked behind the tinted glass. No way he could imagine the faintly bitter taste of smoke, the roughness of his lips, the greasy feel of Dave’s sandy hair. The hissing of the dragon’s corpse. The stench of rotting flesh or heat or sulphur or _something._

 

So Dave was kissing him. They were standing next to a corpse and on a pile of gold and Dave was kissing him. He sighed out through his nose, allowing himself to relax a little, closing his eyes. 

 

It was pleasant for a moment, and then John allowed his mind to wander. 

 

He remembered the last time he was like this, pressed up against a stone wall, then left alone, abandoned, had his name dragged through the dirt. How he had to live with the knowledge that, for the rest of his life, people would hate him just because of moments like this. That his own village would whisper rumours about him behind his back. 

 

_And now,_ he thought bitterly, _you’ve given that to Dave for the rest of his life._

 

John flinched back, slipping a little on loose gold. Dave’s hands moved down to hold his shoulders, stopping him from falling. 

 

“John?” he asked quietly, and oh hell, that was a tone of confusion, fear, rejection, and there was too much going on and-

 

“John, calm down, what’s wrong?” Dave asked, letting go. John only noticed then that he was breathing too hard, beginning to panic. 

 

“I-,” he started, not sure how to finish, and Dave was still _so close._ John took a step back, and then another, pushing his fingers into his own hair. He looked around at the cavern, at the glistening gold, at the huge hulking presence of the scaly dragon, at _anything_ but Dave. 

 

God, he was selfish. He’d done this. 

 

“I-“ he tried again, but he had no idea what it was he was trying to say. Apologise? Maybe. Demand an explanation? Try and explain the apocalyptic thinking filling his head? He turned to Dave again, who hadn’t moved, stuck still, _thank God-_

 

“Dave,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes now for reasons he couldn’t explain, “Why’d you have to do that?” 

 

Dave’s face was carefully blank, though John could tell he was confused. His leg was suddenly screaming at him, the toll of all the walking and running and magic finally catching up with him now that there was no adrenaline in his system 

 

“Because I like you,” Dave said, simply, “A lot.” 

 

That didn’t help. John let out a high pitched whine, blinking to try and clear the tears. 

 

“But you _don’t_ , Dave you’re not-“ 

 

“Not what, John?” There was a hard edge to Dave’s question, as calmly as it was phrased. 

 

“You know what!” John snapped, hearing his voice break, “a fruit a fairy, homo, faggot, you’re not _gay,_ Dave! Or you weren’t until-“ 

 

He gave up on words then, sitting down heavily on the ground, taking off his glasses and burying his face in his hands. He heard the gold pieces sliding over each other, telling him that Dave was making his way over. 

 

“John, do you think that you turned me gay?” Dave asked, his voice weirdly gentle. John paused for a moment. 

 

He nodded. 

 

He heard Dave sigh, and felt him come to sit next to John, close but not touching. 

 

“Is all this is about?” he asked quietly. John shook his head. There was still the bad taste, the half-memory of Jake sitting at the back of his tongue.

 

“But mostly the gay thing, right?” John wanted to snort. ‘Gay thing’. He nodded. They were quiet for a little while. 

 

“John, you didn’t turn me gay, okay? I mean, I guess I still think girls are hot. It’s kinda confusing.” He paused for a moment. “All I know is that I like _you_ John.” 

 

John’s heart was going crazy in his chest. His palms were getting uncomfortably clammy. 

 

“And if you don’t want…this? The I’ll lay off, okay? We can go back to just being pals. Shit’ll be more platonic than a couple of fucking dogs fighting over a-“ he stopped here, and John heard him shrug, “you just say the word, John.” 

 

It’d be easier, if they were just friends. It’d be harder, too. 

 

Fuck it. 

 

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ you, Dave,” he said, his voice trembling. His chest felt as though it was vibrating. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I do like you. Like a lot. And I have for. Um. A while.”

 

“Oh,” Dave said. John’s sure if he had thecourage to look up, Dave’s face would be bright red. He knew his own cheeks were burning. 

 

“Then what…” 

 

“Jake.” 

 

“Ah.” 

 

John looked up then, putting his glasses back on. Dave was looking at him, something carefully hopeful about his expression. He _was_ blushing. John bit his lip, and looked down at his hands. 

 

“It’s not going to be easy, Dave,” John said quietly. 

 

“I know.” 

 

“We’d have to be careful,” he went on, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“If anyone found out-“ 

 

“John, look at me.” John looked up. Dave’s glasses were still lost somewhere, and the full intensity behind his eyes was on display. 

 

He so rarely got to see Dave’s eyes, that, despite everything. John took a moment to look at them. _Really_ look at them. They were incredible, vivid and striking and burning red. Not quite like rubies, John decided, more like autumn leaves, or rose petals, or the slightly too ripe strawberries he used to snack on when Dad wasn’t looking. There wasn’t anything hard about them. They were soft. 

 

“I’m going into this with eyes wide open,” Dave said seriously, “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The only person who’s opinion matters to me is you.” 

 

John nodded, smiling thinly, before burying his face in Dave’s chest. Dave immediately wrapped his arms around John, pulling him close.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled by Dave’s chest. 

 

“It’s okay,” Dave replied, “I kinda sprung that on you outta left field.” 

 

“It’s not your fault.” They sat like that for a little while. 

 

“You’re gonna have to be patient,” John warned, poking his face up so he was looking at Dave. He could count his pores if he really wanted to. “It’s gonna take a little getting used to.” 

 

“Oh no,” Dave said dryly, trying and utterly failing to keep a smile off his face, “I need to wait? Well suddenly I don’t want this anymore. Sorry John, you know me, I have the attention span of a goldfish or some shit. Like hella fucking short. What are we talking about again?” 

 

John giggled, resting his head on Dave’s shoulder. He sniffled a little, and Dave’s arms tightened slightly. 

 

“We should probably take a scale and start heading back down,” John said. 

 

“Probably,” Dave replied, making no move to do either of those two things. John didn’t protest for a while longer. 

 

“Dave,” John said, looking up at him. 

 

“Yeah?” Dave asked, glancing down. 

 

“We should probably take a scale and start heading back down.” 

 

“Yeah.” There was another long-ish pause. “You okay?” Dave asked quietly. John gave him his bravest smile, which was still just the slightest bit wobbly. Dave smiled back at him, placed the most tenacious, gentle kiss to John’s temple, and let him up. John pulled himself to his feet, then offered Dave a hand up. 

 

He looked up at the Dragon’s corpse, which was still letting off smoke, trailing thinly upwards and out of the mountain. Its thick black blood was already coagulating around its head. It stank. 

 

“So, how do you think we get one of these bad boys off this disgusting, rotting corpse? Because they were fucking hot as dicks when this asshole was alive, let me tell you.” Dave asked, standing closer to John than perhaps was strictly necessary. John turned to him sharply, nearly bumping into him.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and then kicked himself for it. Of course he wasn’t. Dave wordlessly held out his hands, which were red and blistering. John winced sympathetically. 

 

“Do we still have any of that burn salve?” he asked, pursing his lips. Dave shrugged. 

 

“You could always kiss it better,” he suggested, seriously. John rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. He turned back to the dragon’s body, cautiously holding out his hand. 

 

“Still feels warm,” he said, more to himself than Dave. He made a small noise of agreement. 

 

“Oh, shit, dude,” Dave said suddenly, unsheathing his sword. He stuck it under one of the scales, and started jimmying it around.

 

“That might work,” John said, impressed. Dave grinned widely at him, teeth bright white against the soot and blood smeared over his face. John stared, and felt his cheeks go pink _again,_ goddamn it.

 

“Listen, John, it’s not often that I’m the one coming up with the genius plans,” Dave said, finally levering the sword in a way that caused a scale to pop off with an audible snap, “let me enjoy it.”

 

“What do you mean?” John asked, going to pick up the scale. It was about the size of John’s palm, surprisingly heavy, and very thick. It had a kind of unpleasant, chalky texture to it. John put it in his pocket. 

 

“Please. It’s common knowledge that of the two of us, you’re the brains, and I’m the everything else.” 

 

“I think you’re mistaken. I’m obviously the looks!” John said, gesturing to his short, slightly round frame. Dave snorted unattractively, looking down. John looked back up at the dragon.

 

“We should probably take a whole bunch,” John said over his shoulder.

 

“Why?” 

 

“Well, for one, so we can prove that we actually killed the dragon and dramatically throw them at that old dude’s feet when we get to the village. And for two, in case we drop any of them, we have spares.” 

 

“Why would dropping ‘em make any difference?” Dave groused, but stuck his sword under another scale anyway. 

 

“The mystical cave recipe specifically asked for a scale that never touched the ground,” John pointed out. He grabbed the scale before it slipped off the corpse. 

 

“I hate to contradict you, but it actually wanted a scale from a _creature_ that never touched the ground,” Dave said, shoving his sword under a different scale, “so these should be fine if we drop them.” 

 

“You really wanna test the weird old magic writing on a technicality, Dave?” John asked, collecting the scales in his arms. 

 

“All I’m saying is that it needs to be more specific,” Dave said, grunting as he levered a particularly well attached scale off, “if it wants a scale that never touched the ground, it needs to say that.”

 

“You thought snails were beetles for like twenty years, Dave, I don’t know that I should be trusting your deduction skills.” 

 

“Hey,” Dave whined. John giggled, looking over at him. He stuck his tongue out at Dave, who replied in turn.

 

After a few moments, they’d amassed a small pile of scales, and were packing them up safe away. They looked at the corpse of the dragon, shoulder to shoulder. 

 

It was strange, John thought. He’d expected to feel elated, or at the very least have some sense of accomplishment. He didn’t really feel anything, though. It was like it’d happened to someone else. It felt so distant now, the only evidence anything had happened on Dave’s blistering hands, and the bruises blooming up over their ribs. He just felt tired. 

 

Wordlessly, slowly, Dave slipped his hand into John’s. His heart thumped a bit louder in his chest. 

 

Here was his sense of accomplishment, his adrenaline, the thing that thrummed in his veins like a mantra or prayer or _something_. 

 

It was Dave. 

 

John looked at him, smiling a little. He had a new appreciation for the sharpness of his nose, his jawline. The muscle that coiled thinly under his shirt. Dave looked over at him again, his eyes still softly burning in the weird reflected light. He smiled for a brief moment.

 

“We should totally take this loot for ourselves,” Dave said. 

 

“Holy shit, yeah,” John replied. They both scrambled to their feet, grabbing at as much gold as they could carry, shovelling it into their pockets, jackets, sandwiching it between the the elastic of their trousers and their hips, arms, anything that could conceivably carry something. They turned to leave, but only got to the edge of the centre platform before John grabbed Dave’s arm with a second thought. 

 

“We don’t have anything to eat, do we?” he asked, hopefully. Dave shook his head. John made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, grimacing at the very thought. He looked at Dave, and then looked very pointedly at the dragon. Dave’s face fell. 

 

“Well, that’s one thing to cross off the bucket list, right?” he said, faux cheerfully. He unsheathed his sword, and slashed and cut a few hunks of meat out of the corpse. 

 

“I heard somewhere that Wyrm flesh is hallucinogenic,” John said distantly. 

 

“Dude, score,” Dave said. John laughed, slightly hysterically. 

 

“This one’s not a Wyrm. They live in like, wells and shit,” John said, somewhat pedantically. 

 

“What’s this one?” Dave asked, holding the lengths of black meat at arms length. 

 

“Great Northern Asshole,” he said. Dave laughed quietly, wrapping up the meat in some torn up fabric, sticking it in his pocket. 

 

“Shall we?” Dave asked, offering his disgusting, blood covered hand to John. Just to annoy him, he grabbed onto Dave’s hand instantly, trying not to wince at the squelching of the still hot blood between their palms. They got to the edge of the island, and just to show off, John let go of Dave’s hand. He held his hands out in front of him, and, clenching his fists, pulled them sharply to his chest. A layer of rock slid off the pathway ahead, forming a ramp over the molten gold. He beamed up at Dave, who was looking suitably impressed. 

 

“Showoff,” he muttered, taking John by the hand again and leading them both out of the cavern. 

 

* * *

 

By contrast, the outside world was freezing cold, and smelled incredible. John took a deep breath, holding the cold air in his lungs a moment before releasing them. The sun was just starting to sink down over the horizon, and the world was bathed in a pale pink. 

 

“We could probably make it down a little ways,” Dave said, glancing down the path. He was sat against the side of the mountain, distributing the various prizes throughout his pack. John hummed in agreement. 

 

“That place we stayed the other night was pretty good,” John said. 

 

“Might be too far,” Dave said, squinting up at the sun. John just shrugged. Suddenly, he wasn’t too fussed about getting back down to the town. 

 

“I’m not picky.” 

 

They shouldered up their packs, and started on their way down. Exhaustion slammed into John like a truck, and his leg still ached with the cold. He noticed that Dave was listing to the side slighty, but decided not to bring it up. They moved very slowly, too tired to even really talk beyond the occasional grunt. The moment that the sun disappeared behind the horizon line, they both unanimously dumped their packs on the ground and collapsed in a heap. 

 

“Ow,” Dave said. 

 

“What happened?” John asked, looking over at Dave. They’d landed such that he only really got to see Dave’s chest from this angle, but was too tired to bother pushing himself up for a better view. Dave gestured vaguely to his chest. 

 

“I think I broke some ribs again when that motherfucker threw me against the wall like a wet paper towel,” Dave mumbled, letting his arm fall listlessly against his side. John struggled up, pulling himself over so that he could lie next to Dave. 

 

“Where’d you break them?” He asked, rolling over onto his less injured side. Dave wordlessly pointed at a spot on his left, only a little bit higher than his stomach. John gently placed his hand over Dave’s ribs, feeling around for a fracture. 

 

“It doesn’t feel like you broke them,” John said, not looking Dave in the eye, “I think you’re just being a drama queen.” 

 

John left his hand there, allowing his thumb to stroke backwards and forwards over the slightly swollen ribs. Dave shifted slightly, nudging John so that his head was resting gently on Dave’s arm. Even just this, barest contact, felt fragile and new. Made his breath shorter. 

 

“What happened to you?” Dave asked. 

 

“Hm?” John replied, not bothering to disguise the sleepiness in his voice.

 

“I looked around for you and couldn’t see you anywhere,” Dave said, and John tactfully decided not to bring up the residual fear in his voice. 

 

“Oh. He head butted me off the island. I was just kind of hanging on the side for a while, trying to hide and figure out what to do next.” He left out the crushing fear, the way his heart stopped when Dave got flung into the wall, how he whilst was distracted by Dave’s trajectory towards the molten gold, Armageddon had found a window of opportunity. 

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine. Ribs kinda hurt though. They’re just bruised. I’ll be fine.” It was quite warm in the little space between them, and John (despite the fact that he was lying on the bare ground on the side of a freezing mountain) was extremely comfortable. He’d just started to doze off where he lay when Dave started shifting. John whined in protest. 

 

“Sorry, darlin’, but I’m starving,” Dave said, not sounding sorry at all. 

 

“That’s fair,” he said, sitting up and suppressing a yawn. Dave was looking at him, in the dim light, John missed the nuances of his expression. 

 

“What?” he asked. 

 

“You’ve got some gnarly bedhead, dude,” he replied, reaching out to try and smooth it down, “you need a haircut.” 

 

“If you say so. I’ll add it to my list of things to do. One: Get rich. Two: haircut,” John said. Dave stood up, stretching a little. 

 

“I’ll go get some fire building stuff,” Dave said, backing away. 

 

“Okay, be careful,” John called back. Dave shot up a thumbs up before loping away. It only occurred to John then that maybe he was trying to avoid any potential fallout from the new pet name. 

 

_Darlin’_

 

This was too much fucking blushing for one day. 

 

* * *

 

When Dave got back, he dropped the bundle of sticks unceremoniously on the ground and sat down heavily. 

 

“Thanks honeysuckle,” John said, scooting over to arrange the sticks in a more orderly fashion. 

 

“Honeysuckle?” Dave asked, bemused. 

 

“Would you prefer pumpkin bread?” 

 

“Excus-“

 

“Butter biscuit?” 

 

“No, John, these all suck harder than-“ 

 

“Bacon boy!” John grinned, finally starting the fire. Dave laughed, loudly, for a long time. He wiped at his eyes a little, looking at John like he was some kind of miracle. 

 

“What?” he asked, still smiling widely. John shrugged, pulling out a stinking hunk of black meat and placing it over the fire. 

 

“I dunno,” he said, suddenly embarrassed, “I just thought I’d be more creative than ‘darling’.” In the red glow of the fire, Dave’s blush looked violently pink. John snickered to himself. 

 

“You’re blushing,” he said, poking a little hesitantly at the meat. 

 

“Shut up,” Dave said, scooting closer to John, then quieter, with the edge of laughter in his voice, “bacon boy.” 

 

They sat quietly for a while, watching the meat cook. 

 

“I hope it’s not poisonous,” Dave said conversationally. John just nodded in agreement. 

 

“I hope it doesn’t give us crazy visions or whatever,” he said. It was difficult to tell when, exactly, it was safe to eat, so John erred on the side of caution and cooked it till it was slightly burned. The meat was black anyway, so it wasn’t a huge difference in how appetising it looked. 

 

“It stinks,” Dave grumbled, looking at the meat as though he could make it disappear with sheer will power. 

 

“So do you,” John said, “you haven’t washed in like, what, a week?” 

 

“More like three weeks, but you haven’t either,” Dave said, obnoxiously stretching his arms over his head. John gagged dramatically at the smell of his armpits, which really weren’t too bad. 

 

“I think you’re forgetting the bath I had with like fifty shirtless girls,” John relied, skewering the meat on the end of a stick and pulling it off the flames, “dig in.” 

 

“We’re sharing a meal? How romantic,” Dave said, cooing sarcastically. John hesitantly took a bite, tugging at the tough meat, finally managing to pull off a piece and chew it for a while. Dave just watched silently. 

 

“Are you dead yet?” he asked after several long moments of silently watching John eat. 

 

“Yep,” he replied around a mouthful of meat. Dave rolled his eyes and started attempting to eat the tough, charred meat. 

 

“It’s not that bad,” John said mildly. 

 

“It’s pretty bad,” Dave responded. It was; tough and oddly flavourless aside from the burned outside. But they were both so tired and hungry that neither of them cared much. 

 

John fished out the remains of the burn salve and gently started rubbing it on Dave’s hands. They drank, rolled out the mats, and collapsed next to each other side by side in the cool air.

 

“Goodnight, Dave,” John said quietly. Dave didn’t respond. He was already asleep. John dropped off not long after, warm despite the cold night. 

 

* * *

 

_john_

 

He scrunched up his face, trying to roll away from the noise. 

 

_John, wake up._

 

Fuck off voice. 

 

_John, c’mon, wake up-_

 

Oh. That was Dave. John felt himself being shaken too, and pulled himself, regretfully, out of sleep. There was a painful indent on the side of his face from where he’d slept on his glasses. He rubbed at his eyes with the ball of his palm and blinked blearily up at Dave. 

 

The fire had died down, and the moon was still mostly in shadow, so it was difficult to tell. But John was fairly certain that Dave was as pale as the moonlight. 

 

“Dave?” he whispered, eyebrows knitting together in concern, “what’s wrong? Are you okay?” A thousand worst case scenarios raced through his head- the meat was poisonous and Dave was dying, they were freezing to death, raiders had followed them, they were-

 

“I…yeah. Fine,” Dave said, sitting back on his heels. John pushed himself up so that he was sitting. 

 

“Really?” he asked uncertainly. Dave shakily reached out and loosely held John’s wrist, his thumb resting over the pulse point. 

 

“Just a nightmare,” he said under his breath. 

 

John didn’t need to ask what about. 

 

Sometimes, he forgot that Dave wasn’t any stronger than he was. Dave still panicked, still cried, was just as fragile and easily broken as John was. 

 

They needed each other. 

 

John laid his other arm on Dave’s shoulder, slowly pushing him back down so they were lying face to face again. John shifted so that his chin was resting on the top of Dave’s head, curled around him like he was trying to protect him. Dave stopped, clearly slightly uncertain, though eventually pressed his face into John’s chest. John ran his fingers through Dave’s hair (also getting long and scruffy), until his breaths evened out and got deeper. 

 

John smiled to himself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

 

* * *

 

They took their time coming down the mountain. They ate terrible dragon meat, rubbed salve on their wounds, continued the easy banter between them, and slept cheek to cheek on the small mats in the night. It was strange, John thought, how weirdly happy he was. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in over a week, he hadn’t washed since his debacle in the lake, and he was bruised and beaten from various fights with fantastical creatures. But now he could touch Dave, just reach out and hold his hand or brush a stray hair off his forehead, whenever he liked. He didn’t need to worry about excuses for cuddling up close at night, or whether or not Dave wanted what was budding between them (he’d been pretty clear on that front). It was this odd sort of easy peace that settled between them. 

 

John knew it wouldn’t last. 

 

* * *

 

Eight days later, they reached the bottom of the mountain. They stank to high heaven, and were covered in dirt. There was no welcoming committee, nor did he expect one. They’d been gone a few weeks, and if the old man was to be believed nobody had ever come down the mountain. Looking down the hill, John could see them rebuilding the town, people carrying wheelbarrows of bricks to and from houses, old women sewing curtains together and knitting what couldn’t be repaired. It almost appeared how it had when they’d first arrived; the only inkling that some calamity had occurred was in the still-scorched ground and dark under eyes of the people, visible even from this distance. It was mid-afternoon, and the shadows were lengthening out in front of them.

 

Suddenly, John felt incredibly nervous. What would they say? Some part of him felt certain that they’d be able to sense the difference between him and Dave, that they’d be driven out of town or killed or something. And Dave, this was newer to him than it was to John. This was the first time stuff like this would be about _him_. 

 

Dave reached out to grab John’s hand, almost out of instinct, but John flinched away slightly. Dave looked over at him, confused. John shook his head slightly. That was too dangerous now.

 

John had time to build up a thick skin to shit like this. 

 

Dave hadn’t. 

 

He gave him a small smile, and turned back to the town. 

 

Down by the well, the young girl who’d told them about the enchantment stone was looking at them. Her mother came up to her, no doubt to scold her for being in the way, but she just silently pointed up the mountain towards the two boys. The mother stopped, standing upright, staring. People stopped what they were doing to turn and look. John swallowed. 

 

Slowly, the town made its way up the hill to stand before the two boys. The old man made his way to the front, looking Dave up and down in a way that made John feel weirdly protective. 

 

“You have lost the shield,” he pointed out. 

 

“Yes,” Dave replied. 

 

There was a long stretch of silence. 

 

John reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of scales, and tossed them at the old man’s feet. The old man bent over, and picked up a single scale. John saw his hands shake slightly as he held it, turning it over and over, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He looked back up at John and Dave. 

 

“It is dead?” he whispered. John nodded. The old man looked back at the scale in his hand, and turned slowly to the crowd. John could hear his breathing, ragged and shaking. He raised the scale high above his head. 

 

“ _Veetis!”_ he cried. There was a brief period of stunned silence, before a few hesitant voices cheered back: “ _Heroi!”._ It took John a little while to work out that this was old language, the same one they used to name the mountain, the dragon. A language that had mostly faded. 

 

The old man yelled again, louder this time, “ _Voyin_!” 

 

“ _Heroi!”_ The cheer this time was louder, more voices, braver. He had no idea what it meant, but he could guess. 

 

“ _Drakon sertze!_ ” his voice broke on this one, the yelling so hysterical or joyous or what, John wasn’t sure. A wordless cheer broke out among the crowd and they rushed forward, grabbing onto the boys. An old woman had fallen to her knees and was crying into his hip, muttering her thanks around thick sobs. A large man thumped him on the back, grabbing his arm and shaking it a little. Another young boy was shaking his hand like it was a business transaction, unsure of what the Grown Up policy was for things like this. John count relate. A glance to the side revealed that Dave wasn’t faring much better, and there was a slight panic behind his eyes. John smiled fondly at the sight, and then broadly at the people around him loudly yelling their congratulations, thanks, gratitude, all mixed together in the air to form a thick soup of incoherent noise. 

 

“There must be a celebration!” someone yelled, “a festival! A feast!” 

 

“No,” someone else yelled, “honour the dead! We should mourn those that have died at the hands of this _beast_.” By now the old man had collected himself again, and waved his hands for calm and silence. Miraculously, it worked. 

 

“These two boys have done something none of you have been brave enough to even attempt,” he said, his voice showing clearly that there would be no arguing. “Today, they can rest. We can honour our dead and remember our past. We will continue to rebuild.” He began walking down the path back to the village, still clutching the dragon scale. “And tomorrow, we will dance until the stars pale again and the lake dries up.” 

 

The crowd rolled forward down the hill, people asking John for details- how big was he? How did you kill him? What did his lair look like? Did you rip out his heart? Did you cut off his head? How much loot had he amassed? John was still slightly overwhelmed by the whole thing, but the villagers seemed too invested in asking the questions to mind his stony silence. As they made it down to the town square, people broke off, leaving to go about doing various chores. John and Dave stood there, still in a daze. The lady who ran the inn didn’t let them alone for long, however. She was pulling them into the building, chatting the whole way in words that John was still slightly too overwhelmed to understand. She sat them down at a table and left in a flurry. 

 

“You wanna know something weird?” John asked after a little while. 

 

“Shoot,” Dave said. 

 

“This is the first time we’ve been in a room in like, two weeks,” he said, turning to Dave. Dave blinked a bit, looking around the dark, slightly musty room like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. 

 

“Shit,” he said under his breath. John laughed a little, and then nudged his foot under the table. 

 

“You okay?” he asked seriously. Dave opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t get past the first syllable before the redheaded woman returned with huge bowls of steaming broth, with some kind of potato dumplings floating in them. The whole thing smelled strongly of garlic, and it was the most appetising thing John had seen in months. 

 

“On the house,” she said, more to Dave than John. As she left, her hand brushed along Dave’s arm, up to his shoulder and near his neck, before she finally left the room. Dave rubbed a little at where she’d touched. 

 

“Don’t be rude, Dave,” John said, trying to quell the weird spike of jealousy. Dave rubbed twice as hard just to spite him. 

 

“Anyway, you were saying?” John asked, stabbing a potato dumping on the end of a fork and shoving it in his mouth. 

 

The moan he let out was absolutely embarrassing, but also completely warranted.

 

“I think ‘m alright,” Dave said around a mouthful of food, “’s just like-“ here he swallowed the disgusting amount of food that was in his mouth- “remembering how to…you know.” 

 

John just nodded, picking up the bowl and slurping at the broth. 

 

“You get used to it,” he said. Dave scowled before shoving more food in his face. They ate in what would have been silence, aside from the disgusting eating noises they were making. After they were finished John lay back in his chair, patting his swollen belly a little. 

 

“That,” he said, “was great.”

 

“I’m so glad not to be eating fucking dragon meat anymore,” Dave groaned, “that shit was so bad.” 

 

“It didn’t taste of anything!” John agreed, “how can one thing have like, no flavour? Even wheat has a flavour. Even _flour_ has a flavour.” 

 

“Really?” Dave asked skeptically, “what does flour taste like?” 

 

“Dry,” John said smugly. Dave laughed, putting his head in his hands. 

 

“Come on,” he said, taking John by the wrist, “we should probably go get clean or some shit.” 

 

They left together, heading over to the well. John let down the bucket, drawing up water, before realising something. 

 

“Dude, we’re gonna need new clothes,” he said, gesturing to himself. He was still wearing the ridiculous (warm) grandma coat, that had a few holes in it when got swiped off the mound of gold. Dave nodded his agreement. 

 

“Stay here,” he said, looking like he wanted to touch John but deciding against it. John sat down on the cold ground. In the sun, it wasn’t too cold, though the hard edge of a chill was definitely still in the air. 

 

It was strange, this sense of almost accomplishment. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. Just last month they killed a shadow demon together, and before that they’d killed a gorgon. It still didn’t quite feel real. 

 

He wasn’t sure it ever would. 

 

How do you live with something like that? How do you get up in the morning, make toast, bake bread, shave, clean your teeth and act like everything’s normal with the knowledge that you killed a dragon? That whole cities are indebted to you? How do you live with that kind of power and stay sane?

 

Maybe it was for the best. 

 

He sat against the well and closed his eyes, content to lie in the sun and not think about anything for a while. 

 

* * *

 

Sooner, rather than later, Dave came back with new clothes. John knew that his would be slightly too large, but he didn’t mind too much. He could go and get new ones for a year in the next town they visited with all the gold they took. Whoever’d given him the clothes had also given him a bar of carboxylic soap and a small sponge. Dave grabbed the bucket of water and dashed off behind a building to wash. John laughed. He wanted to chase after him, knock the water out of his hands and tackle him to the ground. He wanted to kiss Dave breathless. 

 

But he couldn’t. 

 

So he sat where he was, and waited for Dave to come back. 

 

After they’d both washed, they returned to the inn, and prepared to go to sleep. John couldn’t believe how excited he was to be lying in a real bed after his time on the mountain. 

 

“Oh!” said the redheaded woman, who was quickly becoming the bane of John’s existence, “you do not need to share a room anymore.” 

 

“Pardon?” John asked, blinking a little. He didn’t miss the way Dave not-so-subtly stepped behind John. 

 

“Nobody else is using the room next to you,” she said, coming forward and handing John another key, “go ahead. Free of charge.” 

 

“We couldn’t possibl-“ 

 

“Please,” the woman seemed slightly manic at this point, “that Dragon…Allow me to repay you. Please.” 

 

John bit his lip. 

 

“Alright. Thank you,” he said, stepping away. Dave looked over at John like a deer caught in the headlights. John gave him his best attempt at a smile. 

 

“Night, Dave!” he said, unlocking the next door. 

 

“Gnight,” he replied.

 

John stepped into his room, locking the door behind him. He collapsed onto of his bed, expecting to fall asleep immediately. He was tired, and felt clean and well fed for the first time in a very long time. The bed was warm, too, and feather soft, especially when compared with the hard ground they’d been sleeping on previously. But it was oddly gloomy. 

 

Lonely. 

 

“Fuck this,” John said aloud. He opened the windows, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, and climbed out. He drew the curtains, shut the window again, and went over to knock on what he hoped was Dave’s window. 

 

He rapped his knuckled loudly against the glass and ducked down. It only took a moment for the windows to swing open. John glanced up, and was relieved to see Dave’s wryly amused face. He grinned up at him. 

 

“Hi,” he said, more than a little sheepishly. 

 

“Hi,” Dave replied, “wanna come in?” He stepped back from the window and John hauled himself in, closing the window behind him. 

 

“Something wrong with your room?” Dave asked, sitting on the bed. John fished around for something witty to say, but came up with nothing. 

 

“Empty,” he settled on eventually, taking a step closer to Dave. The teasing smirk that had been sitting on his face dissolved into something far softer. He opened his arms and John fell in them, pushing Dave over so he was lying on the bed. 

 

“Man, this sucks harder than a fish on dry land,” Dave said to the ceiling. John nodded. 

 

“I told you,” he said gloomily. 

 

“Ain’t your fault, John,” Dave replied, rubbing the back of John’s head. 

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry for it,” he replied, pushing himself up on his elbows. Dave shrugged a little. 

 

“’S nice to be in a bed again,” John said, tactfully changing topic. Dave sighed blissfully, leaning back on the mattress. 

 

“If I ever have to sleep on the ground again I’ll fucking kill a man. I won’t even think twice. Got a family? Fuck outta here, I don’t give a shit. I have to sleep on the goddamn ground like some sort of sick farm horse. Shit’ll be mad spontaneous,” Dave said. John laughed, hiding his face in Dave’s shoulder. 

 

“Well that’s unfortunate! We still have a whole other thing to find,” John said, propping himself back up. 

 

“Oh yeah. What was it again? Some kind of potion?” 

 

“A potion stolen from a gravedigger’s mound,” John said, rolling off Dave to go and find the map. 

 

“Any idea what the fuck that is?” Dave asked, sitting up. 

 

“Nope. MM didn’t really do that potion stuff, and even if he did, it’s super complicated, so he never would have taught me,” John said, rifling through Dave’s bag before eventually finding it. He launched himself back on the bed, sitting next to Dave. He rolled out the map so it was over both of their laps. Dave rested his chin on John’s shoulder, which was probably very uncomfortable for him, but John didn’t mind. 

 

“So we’re here,” John said, pointing at the little doodle of fire.

 

“What are other words for gravedigger?” Dave asked, “maybe it’s like the name of a town. Or a hill.” John shrugged. 

 

“Uh…undertaker?” 

 

“Toumbmaker.” 

 

“Dave,” John said, turning his head to him slightly, “I have literally _never_ heard anyone use that word in my life.” 

 

“Sure you have,” Dave said seriously, “I used it like half a second ago. Come on, Egbert, keep up.” John snorted, rolling his eyes.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, going back to the map. 

 

“You love me anyway,” Dave said, nuzzling the side of John’s face a little. 

 

“Don’t push your luck,” John replied, shoving Dave in the chest a little. Dave gasped in mock horror. 

 

“Oh no, this is how relationships end, isn’t it?” He said dramatically putting the back of his hand to his forehead, “one minute its the honeymoon period, the next you’re sitting there wondering how you lost their heart-“ 

 

“I’m pretty sure we’re still in the honeymoon period,” John interrupted. Dave continued like he hadn’t said anything. 

 

“John, baby, darling, honey, _bacon boy,”_ Dave cried, grabbing onto John’s waist, “please, tell me what I did wrong, how can I ever make you forgive me?” 

 

“Dave! You’re going to rip the map!” John cried, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact he was laughing. Dave starting leaning backwards, pulling John down so he was lying. He rolled on top of John, his elbows either side of John’s head. John dropped the map, settling for his hands on Dave’s sides. 

 

“Hi,” he said quietly. 

 

“Hi,” Dave responded. John bit his lip and was quiet a while, just looking at Dave. Slowly, he leaned up, tilting his head to the side, and-

 

Someone knocked on the door. 

 

John’s eyes went wide. Dave’s head snapped up towards the door, and then back down to John. 

 

“Pretend to be asleep,” John said, then barrel rolled off the bed, roughly grabbed the map, and rolled underneath the bed, obscured by the fact that the bed covers reached the floor. Dave immediately flopped down on his front, head tilted to the side. 

 

The door creaked open, and there was the sound of footsteps on the hard stone floor.

 

_If it’s that redheaded woman, I’m gonna loose it,_ John thought to himself. 

 

Of course it was. Who else would it be? 

 

John heard her sit on the bed, the frame creaking slightly. He also felt her nudge Dave slightly, like she was testing if he was awake. 

 

Dave, thankfully, moved like he was a boneless pile of skin and blood, and not like he was a fully awake human being. John heard the bed creak again, and then a second time as she climbed off the bed and left the room. John waited a couple heartbeats before hesitantly asking, “is she gone?” 

 

“Yeah,” came Dave’s muffled reply. John hesitantly rolled out from under the bed, like a fox coming out of his hole. Dave was still lying on the bed, face down. John lay next to him on his back, waiting for Dave to calm down. 

 

“She fucking kissed the back of my head,” Dave grumbled, “who the fuck does that? That’s about as sexy as a dog licking my toes. It’s as sexual as an old man scrubbing his nut sack. Fucking sexy as shit. I have to lie like this to hide my _raging_ boner.” John let out a breath of a laugh, putting his hand over Dave’s. Dave reached over with his arm, pulling John in a little closer. John sighed. 

 

“Come on,” he said, gently nudging Dave, “we were in the middle of something.” John rolled so he was on his stomach, pulled out the map, and laid it back on the bed. Dave took his arm back so he could prop himself up on his elbows. 

 

“I think that the mound has something to do with hills, so we should-“ 

 

“Where’s the nearest town?” Dave asked. John blinked a little, squinting at the map. 

 

“Here, I think,” he said, pointing to a town that was Southwest of where they were. It was maybe a day’s walk, depending how fast they moved. 

 

“Cool, let’s go there after the festival thing,” Dave said, flopping back down on his face, “gotta be polite guests of honour and all that shit.” 

 

“Why?” John asked, squinting at it to try and work out its name. _Cupressus Sempervirens._ Weird.

 

“Cause I’m sick of being on the road, and I’m sick of getting harassed the people here,” he said to the mattress, “kissed on the back of the head without consent, John. Shit’s scary.”

 

“The people in that town might not be any better,” John said, resting his head on his folded arms so he was looking at Dave. 

 

“I know,” Dave said. He sounded so beaten down that it made John’s chest ache. 

 

“We’ll go anyway,” John said, folding up the map, “It looks bigger than here and we _really_ need to stock up on stuff.” Dave turned his head to look at him. His eyes were slightly red. 

 

“Thanks,” he said, forcing a thin smile. It was almost convincing. 

 

“Anytime,” John said, scooting closer, “Bacon boy.”

 

Dave butted his head into John’s shoulder, slung his arm over John’s back, and slowly fell asleep. John new the logical thing to do was go back to his own room, but instead he folded up the map, slid it under the bed, and went to sleep with him. 

 

This was much more comfortable than his own bed anyway. 

 

* * *

 

The next day, they were the guests of honour at the festival. This was their third time, and John figured that by now they were pretty good at playing the role. Someone had pulled out a dusty, old violin, and was playing in the town square. The inn had turned into a huge feasting hall, with enormous pots of that same dumpling broth, and trays of roasted vegetables, and enough fruit pie to make a young boy sick (which it did). 

 

John told the story of how they’d killed the dragon about fifty times, omitting the part where they used magic and describing how brilliant Dave had been. That part was surprisingly easy. 

 

They danced (but not with each other), gorged themselves, toasted the town’s hospitality, gave piggyback rides to children, and when the began to set they packed their things and left. The redheaded woman insisted on kissing Dave on the cheek twice before letting them go. They only walked for a short while before finding some place out of the way of the road to fall asleep. There was only minimal complaining from Dave about the fact they were sleeping on the ground again. 

 

It was a kind of relief to leave the town. He felt like he’d been suffocating there. He knew nothing would change in the next town. Almost nowhere they went would be different. But it was a breath of fresh air anyway.

 

Somewhere new. Something new to do. Someone new to help. 

 

Deep down, John knew that this was never about money for him. Maybe it wasn’t for Dave either, but that also might have just been wishful thinking. For John, it had always been a way out of Sburb. A way into the world. 

 

He squished up closer to Dave where they lay and fell asleep, belly full and back aching from the hard ground. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, when John woke up at the crack of dawn, he noticed that they’d ended up next to an enormous field of huge poppies. He’d missed that in the near darkness they’d been walking in. He also wondered how he’d never seen it from Pailtown, though he figured they were quite far downhill and had covered quite a lot of ground. He untangled himself from Dave, which was no small feat (since they’d started sleeping together, Dave had swapped his contortionist sleeping positions for clinging onto John like a Cat drowning at sea).

 

He stood up, popping out the kinks in his back, and looked out. On this side of the small, narrow, overgrown dirt path, there were poppies as far as he could see, the shortest of which came up to his knees, like tall grass. He glanced down at Dave, who was still sleeping like a log. 

 

It was still early, the sun just peaking up over the horizon. It was cold, but John didn’t mind too much. The most annoying thing about it was that it made the ache in his leg more prominent. He mentally congratulated himself on being so tough as he took a hesitant step forward. 

 

The petals were oddly soft as he ran his fingers along them, like velvet. He took another few steps forward, when suddenly a flock of butterflies flew up in front of him, some as large as his palm. John watched them go, feeling a smile dawn over his face. He took another step forward, beginning to pick up the pace, and wherever he stepped, in front of him, an enormous cloud of butterflies would swoop up, arcing in one cloud towards the sky. He let himself laugh at the absurdity of it all, and ran, like a kid through the field of flowers, whooping and yelling at the fun of it all. He stopped, breathless, and looked out over the field. He still couldn’t see an end. 

 

It struck him then that this was a dangerous place to be. He glanced over his shoulder, and was more than a little relieved to see the road. But he didn’t see Dave. He took a few steps back the way he came, when he was suddenly tackled to the ground. He let out a small yelp as he collided with the soft dirt, and an enormous cloud of butterflies fluttered upwards. He wriggled around to see Dave’s face just a few inches in front of his own, grinning like a maniac. 

 

“Good Morning,” John said, snaking his arms around Dave’s neck. 

 

“You’re fucking perfect,” Dave replied, before crushing their lips together. 

 

John giggled before trying to collect himself and reciprocate with any degree of finesse. 

 

The first time, it’d been relief and panic all rolled into one disastrous meeting of skin on skin. This one felt more like a new start. 

 

A breath of fresh air. 

 

It was utterly artless, sloppy and overenthusiastic. Dave also hadn’t brushed his teeth in several months. 

 

This one was infinitely more enjoyable. 

 

Dave pulled back, pink cheeked and panting slightly. John beamed up at him. 

 

“Morning,” Dave said, sitting back on his heels. John sat up, looking at the swarms of butterflies curling up and away from them, specks of colour against the reddening sky. He saw Dave do the same out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Not bad,” Dave said under his breath. John glanced down at Dave, still entranced by it. 

 

“Yeah,” he agreed.

 

He got to his feet, brushing the dirt off himself, and offered Dave a hand up. He took it, pulling himself to his feet. 

 

“Shall we?” he asked, looking up at him. 

 

“Why of course, mister Egbert,” Dave replied, offering him his arm. John happily looped his through Dave’s, and they walked like that back to pick up their packs. 

 

Before they went back to the road, John stood up on his tip-toes to press a gentle kiss to Dave’s still pink cheek. 

 

_It was stuff like this that made adventure worthwhile_ , he thought. 

 

* * *

 

They made it to Cupressus Sempervirens that afternoon. The sky was orange, and by contrast to Pailtown, it was a metropolis. It was at least twice the size of Pailtown, with taller buildings and more than one town square. John never thought he’d be so happy to see new people in his life. It was an almost disgustingly well kept town, with little flowerbeds and trees lining the streets. The buildings were made of stone and logs, the roofs were thatched. People were smiling at each other and hauling baskets around. 

 

“It’s like-“ John started. 

 

“Yeah,” Dave finished. 

 

It’s like they had no idea that not a day’s walk away from them, there was an enormous, living, breathing Dragon. It was like they had no idea their lives had been in danger. 

 

“Let’s find somewhere to stay the night,” John said after a while.

 

“Sounds good,” Dave agreed, “and then we need to find more clothes-“ 

 

“And you need a new pair of glasses,” John added, tugging him forward by the arm. 

 

“We need more food and water skins.” 

 

“And bedding.” 

 

“And coats.” John finished, glancing around, “anything else?” 

 

“Yeah, someone to decode this fucking nonsense poem,” Dave grumbled, spotting an inn a little ways away from the town square, “oh, and someone to look at your leg.” He groaned.

 

“Dave, it’s been like-“ John started, but Dave cut him off with a look. 

 

“I saw you limping, John,” he said dryly, “come on. Besides, I wanna see if there’s any burn salve up in this bitch. We might need it.” John laughed a little, but Dave continued, serious as the grave, “We’ve got cash to spare anyway. Gotta spend that money like there’s no tomorrow. We’re gonna make it rain, Johnny boy.” 

 

“Not enough for separate rooms though,” he said, loudly. Dave snorted a laugh, looking down. 

 

“No, of course not,” he agreed at a slightly louder voice, stepping inside the inn, “gotta scrimp and save where we can.” 

 

It was made almost entirely of wood, and was pleasantly warm. There was a rough carpet around the dining area and bar, as well as a cheerful fire. To the right, there was an old, scratched up oak staircase. The man behind the counter was about seventy, with thick reading glasses and greying hair. 

 

“Good evening!” John beamed. The old man smiled back. He smelled faintly of tobacco. 

 

“Evening, young man! ‘Ow can I help you?” he asked, pulling out a thick book. 

 

“What’s your nightly price?” he asked, leaning on the counter and putting on his most anxious face. The old man looked down his list, squinting a little. 

 

“Let’s see…it’s three silver for a single room for three nights, and three silver two copper for a double room for three nights,” he looked up, his eyes comically enlarged by the thick glasses, “that’s hot meals included in the deal as well.” John glanced over at Dave, as if he was asking whether or not they could manage it. Dave did his best to look apologetic as he shook his head. 

 

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, for effect, “I’ll take a double room for six nights, please.” He fished out a single gold coin from his pack, handing it to the man. 

 

“Travelling on a budget, are we?” he asked knowingly. John nodded. 

 

“Gotta cut corners where you can, you know?” he agreed with a shrug. 

 

“I know the feeling,” he said, counting out his change, “when I was a young lad I traveled across the whole country with my mate Paul.” 

 

“Oh yeah?” 

 

“Let me tell you, one night, we were way up north,” the man said, handing John his change, “and we got stuck in a snow storm. We had to share a sleeping bag for a whole day _and_ a whole night in a little snow cave we made, just by digging out a hole in the side of a snowdrift. And I swear to you, that cave was not bigger than this table.” 

 

“Wow!” John said, putting his change in his pocket, “we just came from Pailtown. Have you been there?” 

 

“Dreadful town,” he said, shaking his head, “horribly gloomy.” John laughed as friendly as he could. 

 

“Yeah. Dave lost his glasses there,” he said, gesturing to Dave. The old man tutted in an empathetic way. 

 

“Let me tell you,” he said, leaning over the counter so that he could gesture out the door, “you head down that road and take a left, you’ll find my mate Paul. Now he sells glasses as ‘is hobby, and if you tell ‘im Joey sent you, ‘ee’ll give you a discount.” 

 

“Thank you! That’s very generous,” John said. The old man gave him his keys and sent him up to the second floor. 

 

“Goodnight young man!” he called after them. 

 

“Goodnight!” John called back. They got up to their room, closed the door, and dumped their packs by the wall. 

 

“Man, you’re just a ray of sunshine, huh?” Dave asked, sitting down on the bed. The room basically only had a bed, a candle, and a little bucket for washing your face. 

 

“What are you talking about?” John asked, looking over at him. 

 

“John, that guy gave you a discount on glasses for no reason,” Dave said, “like, seriously. You’re practically Don Juan the lady slayer with the way people fall in love with you. Fall at your feet like flies John. Flies.” 

 

“Uh.” John said, blinking a few times, “thank you?” 

 

“Don’t mention it, bacon boy,” Dave said, standing up. “You wanna go buy some shit?” 

 

“Sure!” John said, pocketing the key. Dave stood up, holding the door open for John, and following close behind him down the loud, wooden stairs. 

 

The town was bathed in a gentle orange light, the shadows slowly lengthening and many shops beginning to close. John and Dave were content to wander around the town, glancing in shop windows. They managed to catch the green grocer before he packed up and bought a few apples for themselves. 

 

John didn’t remember the last time he’d had fresh fruit. Probably back in Sburb. 

 

“It’s crazy we haven’t died yet!” John said, taking an enormous bite out of his apple, “like, we’ve been eating nothing but garbage.” Dave looked at him like he’d grown a second head. 

 

“What?”   
  
“John, our diet isn’t the only thing that’s been trying to kill us for the last few months,” Dave said dryly.

 

“Also true,” John agreed mildly. 

 

They managed to buy some new cloaks before the shops closed as well, which was a small relief. It was thick and heavy, and the material was about as comfortable as a burlap sack, but also extremely warm. 

 

“Do you think it’ll snow?” John asked the shop keeper. He’d never seen snow. It seemed like the kind of thing he’d like, though. 

 

“Not for another few months at least,” she said, handing him back the change, “sorry, love.” 

 

“Have you ever seen snow?” he asked Dave as they left the shop. 

 

“Nah,” he replied, kicking at a small rock, “We grew up in the same town, John.” 

 

“Yeah but you’d left before!” John said defensively, “didn’t you tell that story about going to some city with the Smith?” 

 

“I’m touched that you listen to me,” Dave said, putting a hand on his chest. John bumped into him with his shoulder. 

 

“It’d be nice if you could return the favour now and then.” 

 

“Hm? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

 

“Dave!” 

 

“Alright alright. Jeez John, chill out a little. You’re more tightly wound than a strap of leather in a lady’s dress.” 

 

“Do ladies have leather in their dresses?” 

 

“Fuck if I know. I never met one.” 

 

John giggled a little and let himself back into the inn. They sat down close to the fire and ate whatever was cheapest on the menu, then went back up to their room. 

 

They spent the next few days in a kind of leisurely stroll around the town, wandering in and out of shops, sitting under trees and watching the word go by. They managed to find the mysterious Paul on the edge of town. He ran a little shop out of his cramped cottage, the glasses all neatly lined up on his coffee table. Out to the left of the building was a porch, and beyond that was a small stream with a bridge across it. 

 

“Do you have tinted glasses?” John asked over the ruckus Paul was making in the kitchen. He’d insisted on serving them tea. 

 

“Eh?” He yelled back. 

 

“Tinted Glasses!” John yelled. 

 

“Ones with those fancy dark lenses?” he replied. 

 

“Yeah those!” 

 

“Eh?” 

 

“Yes!” John’s throat was beginning to give out. Dave snorted a laugh. John scowled at him. 

 

“Not right now,” Paul said, bringing out the cups of tea, “but if you’re friends of Joey then I could probably make a pair in a couple of days.” 

 

“Great!” beamed John, reaching for the tea. 

 

“Or I could if I didn’t have all me tools stolen,” Paul continued, as casual as you like. John paused. 

 

“Excuse me?” he asked, taking a sip. It was extremely bitter. 

 

“Oh yeah, that troll living under the bridge took ‘em while I was having a nap the other week,” he said, stirring some milk into his tea, “a bit of a nuisance, that one.” 

 

“There’s a troll living under the bridge?” John asked. 

 

“Yep. Big one, too. Put me son in law in the apothecary across town the other day when he tried to cross the bridge,” he said, reaching for the honey, “honey?” 

 

“No, thank you,” John said, as politely as he could, “um, Sir, I-“

 

“We could get rid of the troll for you if you liked.” Dave interrupted. 

 

“Eh?” 

 

“The Troll!” Dave yelled, “we could kill it.” Paul’s eyes widened. 

 

“That would be very nice of you! Very nice indeed,” he said, getting to his feet, “I’ll show you where ‘e is.” 

 

They followed Paul out to the back of the property, where he pointed at the bridge a little distance away with a great deal of distain. 

 

“That’s where ‘e lives,” he said, sniffing, “y’can smell him. Good luck, lads.” And he went back into the house, the back door locking with an audible click. Dave drew his sword. 

 

“Wait,” John said, holding an arm out, “Dave.” 

 

“What.” 

 

“Trolls aren’t real.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“What do you mean ‘what’? Trolls don’t exist!” John said in an urgent whisper, “the dude’s off his rocker.” 

 

“Well, excuse me for believing in trolls when we’ve already nearly been killed by a Dragon, mermaids, and enormous poppies this month.” 

 

“All I’m saying-“ 

 

“Look, what harm can it do to check?” Dave said, walking towards the bridge, “Besides, _something_ took his shit, and I want new glasses.” John made a frustrated, strangled noise, but followed, hot on his heels. They reached the river bank, and peaked over at the underside of the bridge. 

 

Lying on the bank opposite was a huge, hulking, stinking, slightly green creature, with huge feet and spindly legs, a huge pot belly and awful underbite. Under its arm was a very panicked looking sheep. It was snoring loudly. 

 

“What do you call that if it’s not a troll?” Dave asked in a whisper. 

 

“An orc, Dave,” John whispered back, “trolls don’t exist.” 

 

“What’s the difference between an orc and a troll?” Dave asked, rolling his eyes. 

 

“Orcs eat people!” John whispered back urgently. Dave looked at the orc again, sizing it up. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Yeah, now come on,” John said, tugging on Dave’s arm. They were in the process of scrambling up from the bank when the snoring stopped. John and Dave froze, glancing over their shoulder. The orc was squinting at them, its head tilted questioningly. 

 

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked, putting down the sheep who then, immediately, sprinted off and into the woods. His voice sounded like he was gargling gravel.

 

“Um,” John said, “nope.” 

 

“No.” Dave agreed, sheathing his sword. 

 

“That’s good,” the orc replied, sitting up, “the last time someone came to kill me I had to break his arm.” He spoke very slowly. 

 

“Nah, we’re just here to have a little chat,” John said, sitting on the edge of the riverbank. Dave sat right next to him, arms crossed over his chest.  


“About what?” the orc asked suspiciously. 

 

“Real estate!” John beamed. The orc squinted at him 

 

“What’s that?” 

 

“We’re your land lords, you see, and we’ve got another person looking into the space. And it’s been great having you here, but I think that by now you must be getting a little sick of it.” Dave was looking at John like he’d grown an extra head. John continued, undeterred. 

 

“Imagine! A new house! A new place to live!” John said, gesturing to the bridge. It was rotting a little, and was very mouldy. The orc narrowed its eyes. 

 

“I like it here,” he said, beginning to get to his feet, “what are you implying? Don’t like my home?” 

 

“It’s admirable what you’ve done with the place!” John said hurriedly, “I mean, for such a small living area, you really spruced it up. Good job!” The orc sat back down, suspicious, but mollified. 

 

“There are bigger bridges out there,” Dave said, trying to be convincing. John nodded along. 

 

“Or caves! Or cliffs, if you’d rather live there,” John said, grinning the whole time, “Cliffs come with a good view.” The Orc looked up, and then over his shoulder. 

 

“A cliff,” he said, even slower than usual, “does sound nice.” 

 

“There’s a whole _bunch_ of cliffs that way,” John said, pointing at the woods. The orc followed his finger, and blinked several times. 

 

“And there wouldn’t be any land lords there, so you wouldn’t need to pay rent,” John added helpfully. The orc looked back at him. 

 

“When can I move out?” he asked, eyes wide. 

 

“Immediately!” John smiled widely, “all we need is a quick payment in the form of a little toolbox. With a pair of glasses in it.” 

 

“Sounds good,” the orc said. he rolled out from the bridge, and ended up standing in the stream. He poked around in the fat on his back, pulling out a little square case with a pair of spectacles embossed on the front. He handed it to John, who immediately passed it to Dave. 

 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” the orc said. He reached out to shake John’s hand. John didn’t falter, grabbing on and shaking it vigorously. The orc had a strong grip, and John was fairly sure that he’d cracked something in his hand, but he kept on a brave face. The orc turned towards the forest, and slowly lumbered into the tree line. John and Dave watched him go until there was nothing left to be seen of him. 

 

“Ow,” John said, looking at his hand, “he’s got a strong grip!” 

 

“Lemme see,” Dave said, immediately setting the toolbox down on the bank. John held out his hand, which was a little swollen and red. Dave took it gently, turning it over to check it. He glanced at the house, before quickly dipping his head down to press a kiss to John’s knuckles. When he looked back up, his eyes were full of wonder. 

 

“How…did you _do_ that?” he asked, incredulously. John shrugged, feeling his cheeks go pink. 

 

“Orcs are dumb?” he offered. Dave shook his head, smiling at John like he was the most wonderful thing in the world. 

 

“You’re incredible,” he said. He pressed a quick, dry kiss to John’s forehead, before grabbing the toolbox and going back up to the house. John followed after just a few moments frozen in shock. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey dude,” Dave said, opening the door and wiping his feet on the mat, “we got rid of the troll.”

 

“Excellent! Thank you boys very much,” Paul said, as if they’d just mown his lawn. 

 

“No problem,” John said, as cooly as he could. 

 

“Ah, yes, tinted glasses was it?” Paul asked Dave. Dave nodded. 

 

“Dyeing the glass will take ‘bout a day, but they should be ready for you in three days time,” he said, opening the tool box and making sure everything was where it was supposed to be. 

 

“Thanks, Paul!” John said, heading for the door. Before he got there, he doubled back, heading back to the kitchen where they’d left the tools. 

 

“Hey Paul?” he asked hesitantly. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Could you please give us directions to the apothecary?” 

 

* * *

 

The Apothecary was literally on the other side of town from Paul’s, the West end of it. It was a pretty bright building, with nice flower beds and pale blue walls. Dave, of course, was immediately suspicious. When John opened the door, a little bell above the doorway tingled. 

 

The interior was very clean, and quite empty. There was a soft looking sofa pushed up against one wall, and enormous windows against the other. There was a door against the back wall, which was behind a large wooden counter. 

 

“Hello?” asked a woman from behind the counter. She had oval glasses on the edge of her nose, and oven mitts on her hands. The whole place smelled like baking fruit. Her hair was short and puffy, and sat around her face like a cloud. John squinted at her, going off on a limb. 

 

“Healing mage?” he asked simply. Her eyes went very wide, before quickly calming down. 

 

“You can bet your bottom dollar, element boy,” she said, taking off the oven mitts. She made her way over to them, looking them up and down. She was quite short, slightly shorter than John, and quite round. John found himself liking her. 

 

“John,” he said, shaking her hand. 

 

“Jane.” 

 

“Dave,” Dave added. 

 

“Lovely to meet you both,” she said, glancing at Dave, “So, what’s the problem?”

 

“We’ve uh, been in a couple of supernatural fights recently,” John said sheepishly, “also, he got beat up by like, normal humans. We haven’t really had a chance to get the wounds properly looked at, just field dressed.” 

 

“Well I can sure help you with that!” she said cheerfully, “come, come. Sit down and tell me more. What’s hurt, exactly?” 

 

“Well, Dave here had his ribs cracked, his nose broken, lost a whole lotta blood, then got his ribs cracked or bruised or something _again_ , and tore up his hands a bit,” John said, listing it off on his fingers. He looked over at Dave, who was already sat down, “anything else?” 

 

“Hands also got burned,” he added. 

 

“Yeah, that too.” 

 

“Jeez Louise! What’d you guys do, fight a dragon?” she asked, pulling Dave’s shirt off. He let her, though scowled a little. 

 

“Yeah, something like it,” John said, sitting down on the sofa too. Jane started poking at Dave’s ribs, checking to make sure things had healed properly. 

 

It was the first time John had really seen Dave shirtless in the light of day. His first thought was to how ripped Dave really was (very), but the second was to how many scars he had on his arms and chest, from burns and fights and more fights and this stupid adventure. John pursed his lips and looked down. 

 

“Well, your ribs seem to be fine, and I don’t think you’re about to keel over and die from blood loss,” she said, going back behind the counter, “I’ll give you something for those hands, they look pretty sore still.” 

 

“Thanks,” Dave said, pulling on a shirt, “John’s leg needs looking at.” 

 

“Oh?” 

 

“He got bit by a mermaid,” Dave said, and John wasn’t sure whether or not that was pride in Dave’s voice. Jane winced sympathetically. 

 

“Yeah, they’ll getcha,” she said, pulling out a jar of burn salve and putting it in a paper bag, “come on then, pants off.” 

 

John thanked whatever God was listening that he’d worn clean underpants. 

 

“Don’t look,” he told Dave. Dave rolled his eyes, but obediently put up a hand to the side of his face, blocking his view. John wriggled the injured leg out of the trousers, and stretched it out in front of him. 

 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Jane breathed. John looked down. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but the punctures still went deep and the skin around it was still red. 

 

“Yeah,” John said. 

 

“It looks a little infected,” she said, poking at the flesh. John grimaced a little. 

 

“Badly?” 

 

“Not too badly. If you went on for another few days, it would probably become unsalvageable and you’d need to lose the leg to save your life. I just need to drain some of the fluid and dress it a little better.” She stood up, pulling out some stuff from a draw behind the counter. 

 

“I’ll give you some stuff to chew on too to keep the infection at bay, and a pain surprising potion,” she rattled on, “but in a couple month’s time you’ll be left with just some scars, and full mobility of the leg.” 

 

“Thanks,” John said, blinking 

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, glancing over at him, “this part’s gonna hurt.” John gritted his teeth, but nodded anyway. 

 

She pulled out a shallow bowl, and placed it under his leg, right around where the flesh was angry and red. 

 

“Count back from three,” she said. 

 

“One-“ John started, but was cut off by searing pain in his calf. She’d stuck a very small knife into the skin, and was dragging a line along his leg, down to just above his achilles. 

 

“What happened to two and three?” Dave asked, more than a little urgently. 

 

“It’s better if you don’t think about it,” Jane said, putting the knife down. She started squeezing and massaging his calf, collecting the bad smelling pus in the bowl. John gabbed at Dave’s hand, squeezing it, and squeezing his eyes shut. Dave put a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Halfway there,” Jane said encouragingly. John nodded a little, slightly distracted by the feeling of Dave’s thumb stroking over his shoulder comfortingly. Damn, but that felt nice. 

 

“And done!” Jane said, after a little while. She wrapped John’s leg in some bright white bandages, standing up and going over to the counter. John looked over at Dave, giving him the brightest smile he could manage. Dave still looked a little worried. 

 

“Okay?” he mouthed. John nodded, letting go of Dave’s hand. 

 

“Uh, try not to walk for another day or so,” she said, a collection of things into the paper bag with Dave’s burn salve, “but after that it should start to feel better.” 

 

“Thanks a bunch,” John said, nudging Dave to go pay. He stood up, and reached into his pocket. John slowly started putting his leg back into the trouser leg. 

 

“Hey Jane, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about ‘a potion taken from a gravedigger’s mount,’, would you?” he asked casually. He heard her freeze. When he glanced over at her. She looked pale.

 

“No clue,” she said vaguely. John narrowed his eyes, but assumed she had a good reason for lying. She gave Dave his change and handed him the bag. Dave came back over, slinging John’s arm around his shoulder and supporting the weight on his injured leg. Just as they reached the door, they were stopped by a weirdly echoing voice. 

 

“Wait.” 

 

They turned back, to see that Jane’s skin had gone black, and her face was covered in thin red lines, snaking their way across her skin and into her hair. Her eyes were bright glowing red too. 

 

“What the fuck?” Dave said under his breath. 

 

“Demon,” John replied, clenching his fists. The demon rolled its eyes, spreading its arms wide. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not doing any harm,” she said, in her weird, distantly echoing voice, “we have an agreement.” 

 

“Which is?” Dave asked tensely. 

 

“Infinite knowledge of medicine, stars, geography, science, and baking,” the demon said, grinning wide, “in exchange for a chance to walk the earth again. Feel the sun again. Taste food again. We take it in turns being in control of the body.” 

 

“What do you want?” John asked, still not entirely convinced. 

 

“She was lying,” the Demon said, cracking its neck a little, “we _both_ know where that potion you’re looking for is.” She reached out her hand. “Give me your map.”

 

Dave glanced down at John uncertainly. The demon sighed. 

 

“I won’t steal it,” she said, grinning again, “pinky promise.” 

 

Fuck it. 

 

John nodded, leaning against the wall. Dave, who had taken to carrying the map everywhere he went, pulled it out of his back pocket and handed it over. The demon unfolded it, and embossed a symbol over a spot to the west, in the largely empty plains that lay there. She handed back the map, still smiling. 

 

“Why do you want to help us?” John asked, suddenly suspicious. The demon looked apologetic almost. 

 

“I can’t help it,” she said, “it’s part of the deal of being a demon. Infinite wisdom, knowledge, whatever the fuck you want. But you have to share it. Particularly with people who ask the right questions.” 

 

“How does this adventure end then?” John asked, still not convinced. The demon stopped smiling. 

 

“Wrong question,” she said, turning back to organising jars of things. Dave quickly made his way back to where John was, shouldering his weight again. 

 

“Boys,” the demon said, and though it was her voice, it was Jane’s face. She was crying. 

 

“Be careful,” they whispered. 

 

John nodded. 

 

They left with an inappropriately cheerful tinkle of the bell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a late but HUGE shout out to the people who did fanart for this, autumnips.tumblr.com, uiyutrentasei.tumblr.com, and soulpunk-boy.tumblr.com. It makes my heart do the smily face emoji, and then my face do the heart eyes emoji, with a little praising hands emoji and 
> 
> For updates on where updates are at, as well as my random ramblings, follow me on tumblr: tbatbs.tumblr.com
> 
> For anyone curious, the Old Language that the people in Pailtown speak is a mixture of Russian and Ukranian (à la Google Translate) 
> 
> (PS: Anyone who caught the bonus reference I threw in there gets a picture of a cyberwoman holding corn)

**Author's Note:**

> After re-reading this, I realise that the Smith was somewhat based off a physics teacher I had once. Huh.


End file.
